ONE: IT ALL STARTED IN NORWAY

A chilly wind cut through the late-May air, numbing the sore muscles in Skwisgaar Skwigelf's arms and hands. The adrenaline rush from being on stage waned, and the sensation of his blond, shoulder-length hair brushing against the base of his neck failed to quell the shiver that rode up his spine. As he rubbed his arms and set his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering, he couldn't help but wish that, like his band mates, he brought a coat.

Even though a few minutes of labor generated a small portion of body heat, he could no longer ignore that his black tee shirt was thinner than usual. He hoped that he and the other members of Gognogmug would soon subject themselves to the godsend of a heater in Tallak's van, now that their gear and instruments were loaded. Said drummer seemed also to entertain the idea, but neither he nor Skwisgaar were the one that made the band's decisions. That particular role was left for Arvid, their vocalist and frontman.

"Fuck, that went well," Arvid harshly spoke as he slammed the van's backdoor. "What say we go back in to celebrate?"

Egil, the bassist, rubbed his neck and turned away. Tallak then replied with a minor slur, "Skwisgaar's too young. The owner said they'd only let him in for the show."

Arvid's dark eyes darted towards Skwisgaar, inciting tense anxiety. "I'm going to go back in and buy some beer, then. Swing the van around."

"You ought to bring a jacket next time," Tallak eyed Skwisgaar pointedly as he glanced over his shoulder from the driver's seat. "Lillehammer is still cold, this time of the year."

Skwisgaar nodded, but didn't meet Tallak's gaze. None of them knew that Skwisgaar was forced to buy his own meals, mend his own clothes, and wake himself up for school every morning. The only thing they knew at all, in fact, was that Skwisgaar played the guitar and he played it well.

They scooped him up a mere two weeks ago, after witnessing an onstage quarrel between Skwisgaar and the rhythm guitarist of his former band. Skwisgaar went from the middle of a solo to berating the other guitarist, who was nearly in tears. When he left the stage that night, he found himself immediately surrounded and being sold on the idea of joining Gognogmug. He agreed right away, as soon as Arvid made it clear that he would be the only guitarist.

Gognogmug tiptoed around him for their first few practices, but soon caught on that Skwisgaar was not perpetually outraged. They relaxed—all but Arvid. When he learned that Skwisgaar was easy-going when granted creative freedom and input, the snide remarks began. Skwisgaar had a very good feeling that, just like every other band he'd been in, this one wouldn't work out.

The van's passenger door slammed shut, and Arvid's gruff voice greeted his ears. "Let's get out of here. I think the guy noticed me swipe a couple cigars."

The shopkeeper glared suspiciously out the front window, and seemed to consider calling them back. However, before the man could make up his mind, Tallak slammed the van in gear and they left the place in thick, black smoke.

Arvid pulled the tab on his first beer of the night. As their singer commenced to down it all in one go, Skwisgaar and Egil sunk further down in their seat. Neither of them much appreciated Arvid when he drank. He made it his mission to pick on Skwisgaar, and ever since Egil stuck up for him the weekend before, he too was shown no mercy.

Arvid burped loudly when he finished his beer, causing everyone else in the van to wrinkle their noses in distaste. He then crushed the beer can in his hand and tossed it over his shoulder, narrowly missing Egil.

Tallak frowned. "I hope you're going to pick that up."

"Later," Arvid waved him off before detaching another beer from the six-pack.

Skwisgaar gazed out the window after Tallak gave up the argument, and couldn't help but feel as though something was out of place. The people that roamed the town in daylight hadn't looked like this. . .

Arvid grunted. "Can you believe those weirdoes? You'd think they'd have the common sense to wait until dark before they flock toward that church."

Tallak smirked at the singer. "Didn't you try to get into that building, once?"

"Ja, a few years ago," Arvid replied unabashedly. "I wanted to see what kind of faith it was. Judging by the way they're dressed, I bet you they're some derivative of the Satanic church."

"Laveyan, you mean?" Egil asked with furrowed eyebrows.

Arvid shrugged. "Don't think so. They would have let me in, wouldn't they, if I showed interest?"

"What did they do?"

"Just turned me away," Arvid snipped. "I told them over and over again that I wanted to come in, but they just kept pushing me back."

Tallak narrowed his eyes in thought. "I heard a rumour once that you need to be born into their faith in order to belong. Maybe that's why you weren't allowed in."

Arvid chortled cruelly. "It's just as well. Can you imagine having to wear those robes all year round? I mean, they'd be too thin for winter, too thick for summer. . . they might be comfortable on a night like this, though."

They pulled into Arvid's driveway. His parents either went out for the evening or retired to bed, not that Skwisgaar saw much of them. The band spent most of their time down in the basement, either drinking, sleeping, practicing, or smoking pot. Skwisgaar had yet to actually take a toke of Arvid's weed, but only because he didn't need to in order to get high. The basement teemed with it.

The strong, stale smell of marijuana hit Skwisgaar as he helped pack their things down. Once everything was cleared, he lazily collapsed on Arvid's broken couch, leaned back, and shut his eyes. Arvid opened another beer and threw Egil and Tallak their own. Skwisgaar heard three cracks, and then Egil speak. "Cheers."

The three older boys drank to their successful gig. A few smacking lips and a small burp followed it, and then a soft chuckle. "Kid's dead asleep, I think."

"He put on a good set, though," Tallak quietly told Arvid, as though worried he'd wake their retired guitarist. "He deserves to sleep."

"I figured he'd want to celebrate with us."

"Just give him a few minutes—"

"Skwisgaar," Arvid sternly spoke. "You awake?"

Skwisgaar opened one eye.

"Do you want a beer? I got enough for you."

Skwisgaar shook his head. He had no desire whatsoever to face Arvid when he finally became drunk. If Skwisgaar fell asleep, or at least pretended to be out for the night, he could maybe avoid the inevitable.

"All right." To Skwisgaar's surprise, Arvid didn't sound angry or annoyed at all. "More for me then, I guess."

The stillness that followed this proclamation voiced the others' thoughts perfectly. 'Great.'

Skwisgaar peered around through his eyelashes. To his left, Arvid opened another beer. Across from him, in a ratty recliner, Tallak eyed Arvid warily; lines became more and more pronounced on Arvid's forehead as he pounded beer after beer back.

Afterward, he crossed his arms. "I'm out of beer."

Tallak visibly braced himself. "Well, I'm sorry dude, but I've had too much to drink. If I get pulled over again, they're going to take my license away—"

"Well, my record is clean." Arvid hoisted himself to his feet. "Give me your keys."

Tallak's hand went immediately to his pocket. "No way! You've had way too much! You'll crash it."

Skwisgaar decided to 'wake up', now that he would not be Arvid's subject of degradation for the evening. Egil did the same, he noticed.

Arvid took a step towards the drummer, who immediately put his hands up in defence. "Look, if you want some bad enough, we could walk. It's not like it's very far to that other place—"

Through the fog the alcohol provided Arvid, he processed this proposal. When he saw that everyone's attention rested on him, he jerked his head in the direction of the staircase. "Come on, let's go, then."

Egil grunted as he stood up and followed. Skwisgaar was behind him, but stopped with one foot on the bottom step when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. Skwisgaar turned back to face Tallak, and found the drummer holding his coat. "Here, you're going to need this."

His blue eyes studied the coat before hesitantly taking it. "I don't think—"

"I've got a sweater. You'll need this more." Tallak clapped him on the shoulder again before brushing past him in pursuit of Arvid and Egil. Skwisgaar held the man's jacket forlornly in his hands. When Tallak disappeared, his gaze fell down onto the article of clothing he held. The longer he stared at it, the closer his eyebrows moved together.

He cursed Tallak for being so kind. Skwisgaar learned early on in his venture to be a guitarist that he should not grow close to other members in his bands. He never stayed long, and the more detached he remained, the easier telling them he found a better deal with some other hopeful group of musicians was. Gognogmug was going to be hard to leave, when the time came. Arvid, Skwisgaar would have no problem whatsoever letting go. In fact, he hoped that once his time in Gognogmug ran its course, he never saw the putrid man again. Tallak, however. . . might be harder.

"Hey!" a harsh voice came from the top of the stairs. "What's taking you, down there? Let's go! I'm starting to sober up."

A lurch of the stomach accompanied Skwisgaar's sneer. However, he did not dare defy Arvid when the prospect of unwanted sobriety loomed before him. So, instead of arguing, he threw Tallak's coat over his shoulders and ran up the stairs to join the rest of the band.

They stepped back into the chilling night, and were on their way down the street once Arvid had locked up the house behind them. Skwisgaar, Tallak, and Egil merely followed at a healthy distance. The Norwegian wind pummelled against them, and Skwisgaar pulled Tallak's coat tighter around him. An arm shot out as Arvid came to a stop. Skwisgaar looked up in confusion as it connected with his chest, but then saw how intently the singer stared ahead. Candlelight could be seen through the stained windows of that church and quiet chanting heard, but this was not what captured Arvid. It was what sat on the front steps, or who, more accurately. Skwisgaar squinted into the darkness, and saw that it was a little kid, probably only a few years younger than himself.

It was not the kid himself that compelled Skwisgaar to speak, but what he was holding. "Pfft, look at his grandpa's guitar."

Arvid smirked and looked at Skwisgaar appreciatively. For a moment, Skwisgaar assumed that Arvid would take the comment in stride and they would continue on their way to the liquor store. Instead, he chuckled, stepped off the sidewalk, and made his way towards the church. "Come on. This could turn out better than getting drunk."

Egil made a sound of disgust. "Arvid, no. He's just a little kid—"

A glare silenced him.

Beside Egil, Tallak anxiously tucked a loose strand of hair in behind his ear as Arvid steadily tread along the beaten path. "We should try to stop him. . ."

It was unanimously decided, and so Egil, Tallak, and Skwisgaar followed Arvid. However, by the time they reached the church, he already began his taunting.

"Do your parents go to church here?"

Skwisgaar was surprised that Arvid's harsh voice did not cause the young boy to jump where he sat. Instead, he stopped casually strumming his guitar, and slowly brought his gaze to meet Arvid's. Given the immaturity about his appearance and his miniscule size, Skwisgaar mentally placed his age as somewhere around ten.

Arvid crossed his arms. "Well? Do your parents attend this church?"

The boy failed to answer. Instead, his pale blue eyes moved away from Arvid and traveled over the other band members, who loomed unwillingly in the background. They had merely grazed Skwisgaar when Arvid snapped his fingers impatiently in front of the boy's face. "Don't speak much, do you? Maybe this will loosen your tongue."

Skwisgaar's mouth fell open when he saw Arvid rip the guitar from the boy's grasp. However, instead of yelling at the older boy to give it back, crying about being stripped of his possession, or anything else that Skwisgaar was sure he'd do in this situation, the kid remained silent, his face blank and unreadable. For all the emotion he showed, nothing was out of the ordinary.

Arvid became frustrated quickly, irritated at his inability to force a reaction from the young boy. This did not end his endeavour, though. "Wait a minute. . . I've seen you walking around with that guy with the hat. You're the reverend's son, aren't you? How come you aren't in there, drinking pig's blood with the rest of them?"

Nothing.

"Let's go, Arvid," Tallak whispered. "Give him back his guitar, and let's get out of here."

Arvid apparently wanted nothing more than to bother this kid further, but his lack of effect discouraged him. His eyes darted back and forth as he weighed his choices, but before he could make up his mind, the double doors at the top of the stairs opened.

Having been concentrating on Arvid's ploy, Skwisgaar failed to notice that the chanting ended. As he looked up at the equally stunned congregation with wide mouth and eyes, he urged his feet to carry him away. With the multitude of looks he received from the church members, he didn't even think that stopping at Arvid's house would suffice. In fact, the thought of sprinting the three-hundred mile distance back home seemed all the more appealing in this moment.

From the crowd above, there emerged a woman. She descended the stairs towards the small boy and placed a hand upon his shoulder. Her gaze never once wavered from Arvid, and the intense lifelessness behind her pupils pushed them all back. Skwisgaar waited for the woman to say something—anything—but just like the boy, she seemed incapable of speech.

A hand closed around Skwisgaar's upper arm. "Let's leave."

Skwisgaar couldn't think of a better idea. Once Tallak prompted him, he found himself running across the lawn, closely followed by the rest of Gognogmug. He did not stop, slow, or glance back over his shoulder until Arvid's house came into view. When they reached the entrance, Arvid fumbled shakily with his house key. After stepping inside and slamming the door behind him, he sunk down against it.

Skwisgaar bent forward onto his knees in attempt to catch his breath. He peeled the leather off his sticky skin and dropped it listlessly onto the floor. What could he say, besides 'I told you so'?

Something was wrong with Arvid though, and this rendered Skwisgaar speechless. He'd never seen the man so vulnerable or afraid, before. He shook from head to toe, and a fine layer of sweat shone on his forehead. He rocked back and forth ever so slightly, muttering incoherently under his breath.

"Dude, are you all right?" Tallak quietly asked.

"Did you hear it?" Arvid replied in a forlorn voice. "Did you hear what she said to me?"

As far as Skwisgaar could remember, the woman hadn't spoken a word.

"What are you talking about?"

Arvid shuddered and shook his head. "Never mind. Maybe I—Maybe I'll just go to bed."

Tallak, Egil, and Skwisgaar watched as their singer rose shakily to his feet and stumbled toward the hallway. They remained in the kitchen as he noisily descended into the basement, followed by the soft slam of his bedroom door. They glanced at each other with uncertainty, and then slowly made their own way to the lower level, where they too would try to sleep and forget about their odd night. It felt like days ago that they were on stage.

Skwisgaar closed his eyes immediately upon resting his head on the couch's armrest. Another chill ran along his spine, but this time, it had nothing to do with the coldness outside. In fact, the last things that he saw before finally losing consciousness were the icy grey eyes of the reverend's wife and the pale blues of her strange son.

Skwisgaar awoke suddenly in the night, and realized after a few brief seconds of disorientation that something was most definitely wrong. The dark basement lit up with screams, pleas, and a loud, repeated banging. He jumped up from where he lay and looked around with bleary eyes. Two silhouettes stood against Arvid's bedroom door, one pounding ruthlessly against it, and the other yelling at the top of their lungs.

"Arvid! What's going on in there?" It was Tallak.

A long string of expletives followed this question, nothing of which actually answered it. Skwisgaar flinched as a loud bang came from within the bedroom. It sounded as though Arvid ran headlong into the wall. Scurrying followed, and more light pleading. "Don't kill me, please, don't kill me. . ."

"Arvid!"

"Don't kill me, don't kill me, don't—oh. . . oh God! What are you doing?" An ear-piercing screech followed. When the air in Arvid's lungs ran out, sobbing and heavy breathing succeeded his previous noise. "Please. . . I didn't know, I didn't know—!"

And then there was silence.

Now that Skwisgaar's mind had been roused, he ran forward, and joined Egil and Tallak as they broke down Arvid's door, but if the blood seeping out from underneath it told them anything, it was that nothing could be done.