Demons! Demons! Demons!


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Claudio SimonettiĀ “Demons Theme”


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What an uncanny stroke of luck. I was traveling through the underground late at night, minding my own business and keeping my head down when a rather bizarre individual approached from the platform and thrust a flyer in my direction. He was clad in a hooded black shroud and wearing a metallic mask which concealed his features. Looking disconcertingly like Illuminati, this was not the guy you wish to approach you on a secluded railway platform at the dead of night. A real man of few words, he hardly uttered a single line and instead gestured for me to take the promotional leaflet he was carrying. Ordinarily I would be somewhat wary about such a transaction as you meet all manner of kooks on the subway after hours but, I have to admit, the event being advertised looked rather appealing. Free VIP entry to a one-off screening of a horror flick in a rundown cinema which has been closed for as long as I can recall. Sign me up, I had no pressing plans for tonight so I accepted the token and, no sooner had I done so, than the mysterious cloaked figure slinked back into the shadows leaving not as much a crystal slipper behind. What an unusual chap.


I turned up at the stated time and joined the orderly queue outside the location. News of this exclusive shindig had clearly spread far and wide and the whole street was heaving with colorful characters, all grasping their tickets and excitedly contemplating what lurked behind the red curtain. None of us had the vaguest clue what was in store and that just made it all the more enticing. If it turned out to be a monstrous turkey then at least we could take solace in the Pearl and Dean commercials and load ourselves up with buttered popcorn. Horror aficionados aren’t a difficult crowd to please, even if it turned out to be turgid shit then we could still be won over by a quotient of T&A. We were all here for the experience alone, to share in something utterly irreverent and hopefully go home with a good old-fashioned dose of the willies. Judging by the bloated turn out, it was going to be a wild night although none of us could ever have expected just how wild.


Finally, after a good fifteen minutes of standing around like marked cattle, the doors opened and we all filtered inside. From across the crowded lobby I discerned a familiar face. It was legendary B-movie actor Bobby Rhodes and he had even brought along his bitches for good measure. There was no mistaking him, handle bar mustache, butterfly collars and a head so bald that it looked like an oversized elbow. I couldn’t pass up this opportunity to meet one of my personal Jesuses so I wandered across the room and introduced myself. “Bobby? Bobby Rhodes? Is that you?” I asked. “Who’s asking?” was his disgruntled response. He gestured to his bitches to give us a little alone time and they quickly dispersed, leaving me face-to-face with one of my childhood heroes.

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“Listen honky, it you’re here about my taxes then I assure you, I paid that shit in full”. I reassured him that my intentions were pure but he looked unconvinced. “I brought a can of whoop ass with me just in case so, if you have any intention of catching me out, then I’ll gladly tug the ring pull.” I couldn’t blame him for being guarded, after all, everybody wants a slice of Bobby. “I’m just a lifelong fan” I assured him. “Well shit, why didn’t you just say that in the first place”. He instantly lowered his game face and revealed five beautiful blackened knuckles. Ordinarily, they may well have been destined to relocate my jaw, but a customary fist bump was sent my way and I reciprocated with five of my own.

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“You want dibs on bitch number two?” he offered. “She’s been tested for Syphilis but the results came up inconclusive.” I glanced over at the allotted strumpet and the disheartening bulge between her ass cheeks suggested the old tuck around so I gracefully declined the invitation. “I’m good ta Bobby” was my response but this seemed to infuriate him once more. “What? My bitches not good enough for the white man are they? You some sort of devil boy?” I was mortified by his assumption. “No Bobby no. I just got my dues before I came out. Your bitches look like Grade A ass I can assure you.” He shrugged. “Well you can’t say I didn’t offer. Hell, if you’re some sort of fag then make sure you stay away from my three-piece.” If I had been feeling cantankerous then I would’ve mentioned the ominous shape at the back of his bitches’ tight leather skirts but this was my one chance to meet a legend and I wasn’t about to split hairs.

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Speaking of his chosen skanks, they had taken the opportunity to wander around the lobby and one of them, in particular, appeared to have gotten herself into something of a fix. While Carmen strutted about looking for a victim, Rosemary couldn’t resist tampering with a prop demon mask, not dissimilar to the one worn by the ticket scout I had encountered earlier. Syphilis was now the least of her concerns as her cheek became snagged in the metal, crafting a less than attractive fissure and causing her to wail out in agony. “See what you’ve done boy” yelled Bobby “she was one of my ugliest bitches to start with and now I’ve got no chance of pimping that shit out. Thanks a million buddy.” I reminded him that there was a blind man in attendance and he didn’t appear choosy but he simply raised a sneer and stomped off to calm her down.

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The no-sighted gentleman in question was here with his long-suffering daughter and it seemed a rather cruel irony that he had been gifted front row tickets. Maybe he had been misinformed that scratch and sniff technology had taken off. In addition, two young men named George and Ken were lining up for the performance and had already managed to woo Cheryl and Kathy, a couple of music students who I had passed earlier on the subway platform, around the time that the hooded terror handed out tickets. I decided that, since Bobby was being less than cooperative, I would mingle some and these four appeared like the most bank-worthy option so I made my way over.


“Hi guys. You here for the horror movie?” Instantly I realized how ridiculous a question this was as they clearly weren’t here for extra clarinet tuition. Thankfully, they humored me. “Yeah, have you heard?” replied Cheryl. “Apparently the movie is about Nostradamus or some shit. Should be good.” Instantly I felt both George and Ken’s infuriated gaze on the back of my neck and I knew they suspected me of trying to wangle my way into their cozy foursome. “We got VIP tickets for the back row. Looks like you’re nowhere near us. Shame buddy.” Fuck Ken, just for that, I would turn on the cool. Seven minutes standing next to Bobby Rhodes, surely some of that inexplicable cool just had to have rubbed off. It had, Cheryl was given me eyes, you know the ones. The “I’m going to reach right into your popcorn” kind. I gave her a wink, just enough to soften her gusset, and walked off with buttocks in full wiggle cycle. I knew the girls were watching and either George or Ken was already destined for relegation.

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We sat down in the packed auditorium and prepared for the film’s unveiling. In normal circumstances I avoid fully loaded performances as it invariably leads to rowdy bedlam but I knew tonight was different, just had a feeling. As the lights dimmed and the on-screen action began to play out, the whole audience fell silent and a group of impossibly good-looking co-eds set off into a desolate catacomb in search of an ancient artifact, not unlike the one in the lobby. I glanced over the crowd and they were all fixated, even Frank, who had been given 3D glasses to don presumably as some kind of sick joke. Behind me, Bobby was wearing a wide shit-eating grin, as Carmen’s head bobbed up and down upon his dark destroyer, cheeks puffed out like a greedy hamster. Rosemary, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen.

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Suddenly, I rued not picking up some 3D spectacles myself as she burst from behind the screen, looking decidedly ropy. I’m not sure what the going rate was for a woman of Rosemary’s voluptuous frame but, whatever it was, it looked like she may have to slash her hourly rate as there were no bifocals thick enough to make her look any less of a hag. Even Frank, who was as blind as a bat, looked repulsed. You see, what demons consider a potent aphrodisiac, ordinary folk find rather off-putting and her aroma had already reached my row. I took small swift sniffs as I’ve been told that it helps the smell vaporize and it was as pungent as I expected and a bag of chips. Her teeth were dropping faster than her panties on a particularly busy evening and her fingernails had been pushed through by gnarled talons. In addition, it appeared that instant Alopecia had set in as clumps of her Afro curls were blowing about the stage like tumbleweed.


“My bitch” cried Bobby, more concerned by the fact that takings were bound to take a knock. “Leave her brother. You already have 99 problems and that skank will just make it a hundred” I valiantly offered my two cents as this was Bobby Rhodes after all. “If it’s any consolation, I’m fairly sure she was packing some heat back there.” Unfortunately there was nothing I could do for poor Frank and his daughter as she lunged across the auditorium and made short work of them. He never even saw it coming. Needless to say, chaos ensued, as the remainder of the patrons were swept up in blind terror and climbed over one another to make the exit. This demon lurgy spread fast and one-by-one they began to contract her sickness. I clambered back to the top seats where Cheryl, Kathy, George and Ken were devising a plan to escape.

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“What do you want?” said a stony-faced George and I didn’t even grant him a response. “We have to stick together or else we’ll be neck-deep in demon jism in seconds.” Cheryl grabbed my arm instantly and I took the opportunity to give George a wry smile. Take that college boy, that’ll teach your ass for being such a date rapist. I mean, who ties a sweater round their shoulders anyhoots. Silly rabbit. I led the quartet to the emergency exit where Bobby had already begun to attempt to flee. Carmen, alas, wasn’t so fortunate as she had been too busy gargling his salty mouthwash to spot a truculent demon flanking her. This left Bobby as a pimp with no ho and no pimp ever wishes to be left in that precarious position. Fortunately he was channeling his rage as any true B-movie screen legend would, although the fact that the exit revealed an insurmountable brick wall wasn’t encouraging in the slightest.

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With that, something totally unforeseen happened and a demonic Rosemary hurled herself toward Bobby. He retaliated with a five-fingered death punch but drew back a bloody stump. His own ho bit the very hand which fed her and I knew straight away it was curtains for him. “Bobby Rhodes. NO! Please take George instead. Or better yet, Ken. Dumb fuck hasn’t uttered a word since he has been here. Not Bob. Not our Bob.” He slumped to his knees clutching the gory appendage “Do me a favor will you? Make sure my bitches have my money” With that, he was gone. At least until the sequel.

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This emergency exit was proving more trouble than it was worth so I led the distressed stragglers back to the lobby entrance. Numbers had been whittled down considerably by this point and it was to be now or never. “This one’s for you Bobby”. We made it to our destination largely intact. Kathy took a bite but the way things looked to be heading with Cheryl she was surplus to requirements anyhoots so we left her to spoil in her own green gunk. This was no time to get sentimental. It was time to kick some demon ass and get to the motherfucking chopper. Actually the helicopter just came crashing through the ceiling. Maybe a motorcycle would suffice.

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It never ceases to amaze me the kind of props folk leave invitingly placed in places such as this. A fully gassed two-wheeled hell scooter, complete with go faster stripes and, right alongside it, an ancient Samurai sword broad and sharp enough to cut through club foot as though it were diabetic. I took the reigns and considered my options. “Sorry Ken”. I chopped him down the middle like skinny sushi and reversed my back wheel over the Godawful Cosby sweater which fell from around his shoulders. As for George, always the third wheel, he grabbed on for dear life but his own pullover became entangled with the spokes, throttling him to death and shredding those pretty boy looks. “It’s punks like you who gave poor old Lucas a bad name” was my parting shot.


It was now beginning to look a lot more likely that we would be able to flee this infernal theater and I used the propeller blades to traverse the wreckage and make it to the rooftop before the grabbing hands found their next finger food. By another stroke of good fortune somebody had left a discarded abseiling kit on the helipad and it appeared as though rappelling presented our only ‘out’. “I’ve got something to tell you” Cheryl admitted “my water just broke. You see, George knocked me up on prom night.” I looked her in the eye, stroked her cheek affectionately and kicked her off the back of the bike. “I’m sorry. It’s what Bobby would have wanted.” My final action was to tear up my invite. I shall wait until Netflix for the sequel.

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