Crescendo of Darkness
Today I turn my blog over to the amazingly talented and seriously awesome folks at Horror Addicts.net I hope you guys enjoy the following teaser as much as I did.
Cheers,
JJ
***
HorrorAddicts.net
is proud to present fourteen tales of murderous music, demonic performers, and
cursed audiophiles.
Please enjoy an excerpt below from Crescendo
of Darkness.
“The Legend of
Crimson Ivory” by Sarah Gribble
An audiophile finds a legendarily sinister demo at a used
record store
and decides to play it, despite his friends' warnings.
and decides to play it, despite his friends' warnings.
If
creativity had a smell, it would be that of a used record store. Opening the
door to a record shop and smelling the presence of the creative soul was Cash’s
favorite part of his Saturday morning ritual. Sure, there was the tangy body
odor and sweet pot smoke of the present. But underneath was the smell of
writing lyrics locked up alone, the dust and sweat, the hopes and dreams, all
wrapped up in plastic-lined discs. The smell was his heaven.
He
very rarely looked for anything specific, preferring the monotony of flicking
through the stacks, sometimes stumbling across a rare gem, a diamond in the
rough, one piece of history that got his blood pumping and adrenaline up. It
was his high, his treasure hunt.
That
particular Saturday was the same as any other. He performed a preliminary
walkthrough of the place, to see if his eyes caught on anything. His fingers
trailed over the thin, cracked spines as he walked.
He
didn’t go near the hipsters as they jostled over Zeppelin and Bowie and Dylan,
lamenting over their parents’ decision to sell their copies for fifty cents a
pop at a garage sale twenty years ago. He preferred to settle in a darker
corner of the shop where he could flip through uncased 45s and obscure EPs in
peace. He was there for the unknown, the artists who never made it despite
years of trying; the bands that
broke up after one recording session, and the singers who tragically died
before their music could vibrate too many eardrums. Those tragic instances of
missed fame and forgotten history were the bulk of the collection in his
basement. He appreciated every one of them, even those few that made him cringe when the vocalist hit the
wrong note.
His
favorite find was a demo. There was something about the raw music, the
childlike quality of the uninitiated bands, which took him over. In five years
of haunting used music shops, he’d only found a handful of demos. One, he’d
scratched beyond repair by a dull needle when he was first learning how to care
for records.
A
handful of bands had earned legendary status in the online collector community
with their demos. Some were simply rare finds from big bands. Those were
normally auctioned off at more than Cash could afford on his Burger King
paycheck. Some were unknown artists whose only record of existence was a few
songs recorded during paid time at a studio. A story would become attached to
the recording, sometimes creepy, sometimes sad, but always a tall tale.
Cash
sat cross-legged on the floor, a stack of vinyl in front of him, enjoying the
hypnotic thwick, thwick, thwick as he
slid each record from the pile and moved onto the next. He stopped when he saw
one with a handwritten sticker, the title and band name etched almost angrily
into the paper with pencil. The years had faded the writing. He had to hold it
up to his nose and adjust his glasses in order to get a good look. What he saw
made his heart skip a beat.
Written
in large, block letters was the band name CRIMSON IVORY and scrawled below in a tight cursive so worn he could barely make
it out, the tracklist:
Climb
Apex
Fall
Pulling
the record to his chest, he cast a glance around the shop. No one was looking
in his direction. A slow smile spread over his lips. He got up and meandered as
casually as possible to the checkout, his heart hammering in his chest. A
couple bearded guys raised an eyebrow at him as he passed the bins, no doubt
curious as to what was precious enough to be clutching against his chest. They
followed him to the checkout and he felt their breath on his neck as they
leaned in to get a glimpse of the record. When he handed it over to the clerk
with shaky hands, they snorted, rolled their eyes, and went back to searching
the bins. He smirked. If they only knew what he held in his hands.
*********************************
To read the rest of this story and thirteen
other horror music shorts, check out:
Direct link:
https://www.amazon.com/Crescendo-Darkness-Jeremiah-Donaldson/dp/1987708156
Edited by Jeremiah
Donaldson
Cover by Carmen Masloski
HorrorAddicts.net
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