Gothic Clubbing
By Robert Velkym

   He emerged from the darkness. His pale white face glowing dimly in the yellow flickering street light. His eyes were mere slants as the black eye liner seemed to fold them into lines of dissention. He was lingering under the streetlight for the door to his home to open. He reached into his pocket, his calm hands slowly closing around a pack of cigarettes, and a small deep blue lighter. A spark, a deep breathe, and smoke filled the air. He faded into the darkness. Tonight the dark would make the night so nice and fun, the pools of oblivion, the soft streams of shades… He could smell the moisture in the air, was there to be mist as well? He could only hope.

   He waited there in his darkness, the night growing colder and the mist slowly rolling in. But as the time past more and more white faces floated by him. They were all grouping around the front door of a large warehouse. The smell of Frankincense and Mir, mixed with the sweet smell of sweat filled the crowd, as their voices joined to be come a drone of chatter.

   He sat in his shadow. He was waiting for the right time, the right time to enter the scene, to open the world up to the black in him. He reached back into his pocket. A small brass key, made larger only by the tiny silver skull chained to it, fell into his hand. He took a step forward and looked at his watch. The tiny green luminescent hands read 11:55… He could now go home, and it was time to show his guests what this club was all about.

   The crowds drone grew louder as he walked from the envelope of night. They pulsed and cheered, and began to screech. The smell of sweat grew as the crowd geared up for the opening. They pushed against one another, as though their conflict might some how speed up his procession to the door.

   He smiled slightly as he walked to the doors. The others were inside. They wanted out as much as the young adult crowd wanted in. They too had a smell but not of the sweat or incense, but of blood and of decay, they were waiting for the party to begin, and he was opening the door to their cage. He knows all to well that they thought this. He was ready for them as he splashed his mixture of rosewater and Rowan Wood onto the outer doors. He inserted the key.

   The anticipation grew and the crowed began to grow, attracting people from the nearby outdoor mall, and from the club down the street. Their numbers swelled and the crowd took to become a mob. A mob that wanted to get hypnotized drugged and wet. A crowd ready to party.

   He rapped on the door twice as he turned the key, music filled the air, as though ghosts spoke whispers to misty fingers of fiberoptic speakers. He could feel the bass tones and hear the wine of the violin, the hypnotic fling of the basset horn. He was ready to let the party begin.

   The key slide easily into its home of the lock. The quiet click of the lock went unheard by the mass, the grind of the key turning was not present. But the music grew louder. The beat pulse as though a great heart beat in the center of the main hall. The crowded the door as the massive door opened. The hinges moaning again unnoticed by the people, but after all the care of the sounds was more or less left to him, him and his "friends".

   The door swung open and he turned. He raised his arms high into the cool air, and spoke to the crowd. His white face contracted nicely with the dark blood-red stone. He was preaching to his flock, and they were to be let in. And LET THE PARTY COMENCE!!!

   The crowd surged as the music picked up-tempo and the pushed through the portals the to world of the club. Dark black lights greeted them with twin pulsing strobes, people burst onto the dance floor in a spray of sweet. Their bodies throbbed and pulsed to the beat. Their bodies grinding into one another in a sexual dance of lust.

   He watched as they danced and moved to the dark marble bar. He signaled to the bartender and Wicked Ale slid down the bar to his hand. ‘Two more minutes’ he thought. ‘Then the fun will really begin’.

   He waited patiently. The music range loud in is head, the bass pushing his heart and creating the slight sway in his neck. Time enough.

   The music peaked then died down. And the crowd looked to the DJ stand. A figure rose to the top of the table. Their attention focused on him. He raised his hands above his head in an almost plea with god. Then he pulled out a long microphone. He began to thank everyone for coming… and with a final wave of his hands the doors all closed and the lights began to pulse faster and faster.

   They emerged into the strobing blackness of humans. Then feasted. Blood flowed onto the floors and the sound of crunching bone was audible over the beat. He stood back at the bar and watched in silent glee. He wished that he could join, but the code forbid him, he watched one get a arm ripped off, another’s head fly across the room in a spray of claws and teeth. The beasts were out there. His brothers, eight feet in height, black inky skins with more claws and teeth than the entire San Diego Zoo. The blood was flowing and a beast walked up. Lifting a hand, not his own, to give to the owner. He took the hand and slowly drank the blood flowing down the fingers. It was erotic and he contorted to the blood invigorating him.

   The orgy of death continued for many hours. The snorting of beast and screams of the dying was like a symphony to the devil. Blood washed the floor, bones licked clean, and souls devoured into the sweet void of nothingness.

   He sat on his barstool, the blood of many caked on his face on and satin shirt. Not long now until the ritual is complete, and he can become one of the shadow walkers, the minion of the Nether regions, nolonger human – forever an immortal!!!