Seeping Massacre

 Back in September I saw a Flash Fiction Challenge.  The rules were that you would be assigned a genre, location and an item, and you would have 48 hours to write a story of no more than 1000 words.  I signed up!

This is the second story that I wrote for that challenge.

Genre:  Horror

Location: An Outdoor Music Concert

Item: Animal Crackers

Please note:  This is a horror story.  It has some things in it that people may find disturbing, so please use your judgement about who it is suitable for.  (I'd probably rate it at about a 15 if it was a movie.)

 Seeping Massacre

“Jesus!  Put them away before somebody sees!” Chris frantically shoves your outstretched hand away.  You shrug and drop the earplugs back into your pocket.  Yours are already in your ears, filtering the sound, much to Chris’s despair.

Everyone around you is dressed in black, some have painted faces.  Even Chris is wearing the band hoody (black, of course), with the scarlet blood-dripping logo emblazoned across the back.

No one told you there would be a dress code. 

“Come on, let’s try and get a good spot.”  Chris turns across the field to where the crowd is already thick watching the support act.  You follow, trying not to lose sight of him among the heave.

 

Finally he stops and shouts something at you, but you can’t make it out over the rumble of the speakers, so you just nod.  He shoves a box of Animal Crackers into your hands.  Festival food?  Well, better than the greasy hotdogs you expected.

The night air is thick with the smell of sweat and mud.

The support finishes and takes a bow.  You clap, as best you can while holding a box of crackers.  The stage lights dim.  Shadows move across it rearranging props and instruments.

A single flame appears. 

The screaming of the crowd goes up by at least an octave.  Chris jumps up and down waving and hollering.  You wait politely, munching on the sweet Animal Crackers.  Crunch.

Suddenly the lights blast on and four mildly-overweight men run onto the stage wearing grotesque masks of face paint and fake blood.

“HAIL SATAN!” the lead singer bellows into the mic, to thunderous approval from the crowd.  You chuckle, wondering how much the fans buy into this stuff.

“We are THE SEEPING MASSACRE!”

The drummer blasts the bass pedals, the guitarist slams a discordant note, the ground trembles as they growl out their first song of the evening.

There is barely a break before they move onto the second – or at least, you think it’s the second song.  It could be the first one again.

You glance at Chris; he seems to be enjoying it... but wait.  Blood; oozing from Chris’s ears.  He doesn’t seem to notice.  You try to point it out to him but he just frowns at you.

“WHAT?  I CAN’T HEAR YOU.”

You look around for help; but a wet splash draws your attention.  A man nearby, headbanging, blood flicking in droplets as he thrashes to the song.

Everywhere you look the dark trickles are running down their jaws, dripping from their chins…

You reach to your own ears.  The soft foam of the earplugs is reassuring, there is no blood seeping through them.  But what if you are bleeding, too, and the plugs are just holding it in?

You scrabble in your pocket for the spare earplugs, and try to push them into Chris’s ears, but he pushes you away, annoyed.  Your fingers come away slick and sticky with his blood.  The smell of iron is getting stronger…

You know you have to stop the music.

You start to push your way through the crowd towards the stage.  Chris grabs at your shirt to pull you back, but you break away.  You reach the mosh pit; the ground churned so badly you slip and slide through mud and blood trying to reach the front.

The stage is awash with flames: sickly green, purple-red.  The music begins to hurt your ears, despite the earplugs.  You try to get over the barriers; a security guard forces you back.  Apparently the crowd think that’s a good idea though, as others start to push forward, and suddenly the fence is down and you’re propelled through.

You push and kick your way out; the security guards are getting the throng under control, but you don’t want to get onto the stage.  You want to get behind it.

Crew sit in a mess of cables, blood dripping from their eyes and ears and noses.  They don’t pay much attention to you; you’re not dressed in black like the fans, and you’re wearing earplugs.  They may not know who you are, but clearly you belong backstage.  The main breaker is within reach.  It’s stiff and locks down with a clunk.

The stage lights shut off, and the speakers power down; but the band plays on and the music continues, as loud as ever, rumbling through the ground.

How?

You run up the stage stairs to be confronted by flames – flames you thought were just pyrotechnics- still leaping around as if driven on by some cursed magic.  Shadows in the shape of horned and winged creatures surge beyond the ground, pushing upwards, warping the wooden boards of the stage - trying to break through.

You run up to the singer, and shout, as loud as you can, to stop the concert.  He looks at you, a cruel smile forming on his lips, as he continues to intone harsh syllables.

You realise that the band knows exactly what they’re doing.  They will kill everyone, everyone, unless you stop them.  You make a grab for the microphone.  The singer pushes you away.  You try to wrestle for control.  Security guards, their faces almost obscured by blood are rushing towards you.  You are pushed away again, and as you stumble your hand closes around a stage prop; a gargoyle.  It’s heavy. 

You have to stop them.

The singer’s head cracks open with a crunch that you feel rather than hear.  Blood pours across the floor, drips through it, softens it.  The barrier breaks.

Demons of every size and shape clamber out of the hole, fly into the night, leap down into the crowd.  One of them gives you a mock bow before laughing and flying away.

The flames vanish.  The stage lights come back on.  Strong hands grab your arms.

“Murderer!”  The cry comes from below, and the crowd takes it up, and you realise.

They couldn’t see the demons.

They can only see you.  The killer that let them in.