The October Music, Stanza 2 - Day 28

A Song 4 Hate and Devotion

            “I love you, I hate you, you know I’d do anything for you…”

            Dennison sighed quietly. He was watching this new ‘talent’ – a very generous term – perform what he was calling Baby’s First Punk Song. He was sure they thought it was profound, but it was about as deep as a stream of piss. Mercifully, the song ended quickly.

            “Thank you!” the lead singer yelled into the mic, “We are Yogurt Thick! How was that, Mr. Dennison? Did we blow you away or what?”

            Of course he asked. Dennison forced a fake smile onto his face.

            “Great. It was great, guys. Truly. I’ll need to run it by the folks at the studio and get back in touch with you as soon as possible, alright?”

            “That means he hated it,” the bassist, a sullen man with long dark hair, said quietly.

            “Does not! Shut up, Linus!” the lead singer screeched at him, “What, we should have done your song instead? That confusing piece of shit?”

            “What was his song?” Dennison asked despite himself.

            “It’s nothing. Some boring crap. It’s not at all our aesthetic.”

            “I’d like to hear it,” Dennison said, not mentioning that anything not the aesthetic he just heard would be a positive.

            “Come on, you don’t need to –”

            The bassist interrupted the singer with a plodding atonal rhythm from his bass. The drummer and guitarist soon followed, creating this droning, uncomfortable sound that made Dennison’s bones itch. Before the singer could chime in, the bassist grabbed the microphone and began to sing in a gravelly, harsh voice that belied his youthful appearance.

            “Gather now, you sons and daughters, lead your offspring to the slaughter, sacrifice for Old to come, come to save IA IA…”

            The last two words, words Dennison didn’t understand, came out as shrieks, like something caught in a bear trap. It made him shiver.

            “Join us, Grandfather, resting deeply, in your temple dreamless sleeping, wake and rule the world anew, anew for you IA IA…”

            The lights flickered and Dennison jumped. Definitely coincidence, but definitely unnerving. This he could sell to the studio.

            “That which dead will never die, pull the sunken stars from the sky, free us from the cruel humanity, humanity is yours IA IA…”

            The bass was thrumming now, cutting deep into the flesh of every listener in the room. Dennison’s nerves were firing. Fear. Love. Hate. Everything was writhing in his veins listening to this paean to something dark and wonderful.

            “Find us now, O Great Devourer, hear our cries upon this hour, come and join the endless honor, honor for you, O Great Cthulhu, honor for you IA IA IA IA IA IA IA IA IAIAIAIAIAIAIAIAIAIAIA…
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            The bassist was no longer singing. He was chanting, howling, sobbing into the mic. The sound of feedback was deafening and Dennison could see the blood dripping from the man’s fingers as he pounded the bass strings. The sound of thunder from outside shook the building and then the world went black.