Chapter 16
Christian sat against the wall, his knees pulled up to his chest. He rested his chin on his knees and wrapped his arms around his legs. Andy sat on his left in a similar position, with one hand on the ground, his fingers drumming slowly on the concrete. Shannon sat on his right, her legs thrust outward, her head leaned back, resting on her intertwined fingers. Clark stood, leaning against the wall next to her. A long line extended past them, all the way to the doors of the grocery store three stores down.
“What time is it?” Clark asked, thumping the heel of his combat boot against the brick wall. He looked listlessly down at Christian.
Andy brought his wrist up to his face. “It’s five after eight,” he said, letting his hand slump back to the concrete. “Maybe the doors will open soon.”
Shannon shook her head as muffled guitar riffs floated through the walls, followed by singing. “I don’t think so,” she said. “If they’re still sound-checking, they won’t be opening the doors for a while. The opening band will still have to set up.”
“I don’t fucking care,” Christian said. “We’re here, the band is inside.” He shook his head. “I don’t mind the wait at all.” He tensed his arms, pulling his legs closer to his torso.
Clark looked down at him, but said nothing. He fished a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and shook one out. He looked into the pack as he inserted the stick in his mouth. “Fuck,” he groaned. “I’ve got two left, I’m going to be out before the show’s over.” He replaced the pack in his pocket and pulled out his Zippo.
“Maybe you should quit,” Andy said.
“Maybe you should start,” Clark snapped, lighting the cigarette.
Shannon craned her neck and peered down the line. “This place is going to be packed.”
Christian shook his head. “It’s huge in there. I’ve heard that a lot bigger bands than this Misfits have played here. Even if we don’t go to the front right away, we should be able to get right up there.”
Clark smiled. “I thought you didn’t want to be up front?”
“Well, I’m going to be in the pit, but I want to be up front when they come out. After that, the hell with it.” He got to his feet and looked down the line to the doors. “I’ve never been this excited before,” he said, his hands balling into fists, and punching the wall next to Clark lightly. “I think this is the defining moment in my life. Everything I do after this will be marked by this show.”
Clark snorted. “Pretty dull life.”
“You don’t understand,” Christian said. “I’ve been waiting for this show for what... Four years?” Shannon held her hand up to him and he pulled her to her feet. “Everything I’ve done has been leading up to this moment. Everything I do after this will be marked by this show.”
“Chris,” Shannon said, brushing dust off her buttocks. “I love the band too, but come on! It’s just a band. Don’t let them control your life.”
“They aren’t controlling my life, they’re guiding it.” He pursed his lips. “I wish there was time. I would go get a Crimson Ghost tattoo on my face.”
“What?” Clark asked. “Before the show?”
“No, not before the show,” Christian said. “I was just thinking out loud.”
Andy stood up. “You’ve said a lot of dumb things, Chris,” he said, brushing dust off himself as well. “I think that one takes the cake. It’s bad enough to get tattoos of bands you’re not in, but to get one on your face is about as bad as it gets.” He leaned against the bricks.
“I’d be careful,” Shannon said. “At least half the people here probably have Misfits tattoos.”
“That’s what’s scaring me,” Andy said.
“Don’t be messing with my brothers,” Christian said, punching him playfully in the arm. He craned his neck and stared at the front doors. “The sound check is done, maybe they’ll let us in soon.”
Andy looked at his watch. “It’s only quarter after,” he said. “We probably have another 45 minutes before we even move.” He stretched his arms and leaned back against the wall. “People are still showing up. I bet they’ll have no trouble getting in, or getting near the front.” He looked towards the end of the line and back at Christian, a wry smile on his face.
“Shut the fuck up,” Christian said. “You all could have found another ride, I’m sure. You didn’t have to ride with me.” He put his back to the wall and pounded it with his fists. “Then I could have come up here in the morning like I wanted.” He paused, looking at each of them. “I could have been the first person in line. Then I wouldn’t have wasted my whole day in detention.”
“No,” Shannon said. “You would have wasted your whole day sitting at the doors of a club that hasn’t opened, even after we’ve been here over an hour.”
“I still would have been first in,” he replied sheepishly. “Who would be laughing then?”
“Us,” Clark said.
Christian shrugged. “I’m sure Mark Dorals is coming up,” he said dejectedly. “You probably could have ridden with him.”
Clark shook his head. “Last I knew, he wasn’t sure. All the old punks were playing it by ear. None of them knew if they were coming up or not.”
Shannon snorted. “Probably just going to get drunk.”
“So, is it your goal to end up like that?” Andy asked. “To be thirty-something, still with leather and spikes, still drinking with high school kids because all the people your own age have grown up?”
“Why not?” Clark asked. “Even at eighteen, some of my friends are all grown up.”
Andy looked at him, half offended. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’d like to think that means I’m not entirely an adult.”
“No way,” Christian said. “I’m not going to be like that. I’m going to make a mark.” He nodded to Andy. “When I’m their age, people are going to know my name. Everyone in America is going to say, ‘Christian Duke? I remember what he did.’”
“What are you going to do?” Shannon asked.
“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” Christian replied, giving her a wry look “It will be big.” He pointed to the beginning of the line, where the glass double doors had opened. Two buzz-cut ogres that had been poured into green “STAFF” shirts were frisking the people at the front of the line. “I think it’s time to go in,” Christian said. He pulled his wallet out of his pants pocket and produced his ticket. “This is it,” he said. “This is the moment of truth.” The line started to shuffle along, and Christian slid past Andy.
“I don’t think I like you cutting ahead of me,” Andy said, grabbing Christian’s shoulder, and half-heartedly pulled him back.
Christian smiled and pushed Andy against the wall. “I think if you do that again, you’ll walk home.”
“And who will drive when you get too tired?” Andy asked. “Neither of these two delinquents are old enough,” he said, pointing to Shannon and Clark.
“This delinquent will still rip your balls off,” Shannon said, pantomiming the action.
“And eat them!” Clark said. He grunted and doubled over as Shannon elbowed him in the stomach. He pulled his wallet out and looked inside. “Oh no, Chris,” he said mockingly. “I lost my ticket. I guess we have to go home.”
“Here’s my keys,” Christian said, pulling them out of his pocket. “Wait in the car.”
Clark smirked and pulled his ticket out. “I can’t believe you’d make me wait in the car.”
“Try me,” Christian said without looking.
“I’m surprised you didn’t hold them for us,” Shannon said, pulling her ticket out of her pants pocket. “We should be honored that you trust us that much. I thought for sure you were going to collect them as soon as we bought them, or even get them yourself.”
Christian shrugged. “If you lose them, it’s your own fault, not mine. I was nice enough to bring you here. If you screw up your part, I’m not responsible.” He handed his ticket to the overly-muscled man in clothes three sizes too small. On the bouncer’s command, Christian raised his arms and allowed himself to be frisked.
“No weapons, no cameras, nothing?” the bouncer asked as he patted down Christian’s sides.
“Nothing,” Christian replied.
“Over or under?” the bouncer asked.
“Under,” Christian replied.
The second bouncer X-ed his hand with a black marker and pointed in the door with his thumb. Christian stepped inside and waited for his companions as they underwent the same treatment.
“This place is huge,” Shannon said, looking around in awe as she entered.
The club had only a few people already in, most of them already at the bar. A merchandise table was set up on the wall opposite the door, and the stage dominated the wall between them. Several men and women in shirts emblazoned with “Misfits Crew,” were behind the table. A group of mohawked punks were setting up a drum set on the stage.
Clark and Andy entered and joined them.
“Let’s go check out the shirts,” Clark said, pointing to the table. “Let’s see if we can get Andy wearing the shirt of the band he’s going to see.”
“I don’t think so,” he replied.
As they crossed the room, Clark asked, “Do you see Todd Filth or Rubin Valentine around?”
Christian craned his neck and said, “I don’t see them. I’m sure Todd would insist they get here early too.”
They pushed through the growing crowd to the front. Various books, magazines and stickers were laid out neatly with prices taped below them. On the wall behind them hung half a dozen T-shirts, each with a different depiction of bones and gore.
“I’m in heaven,” Christian whispered to Shannon. She looked at him and smiled.
“Can I help you?” asked a woman in a “Crew” shirt.
Clark leaned over the table and pointed at one of the shirts. “Can I have that shirt,” he said, digging his wallet out of his pocket. As the woman pulled the shirt out of a box, Clark handed her a $20 bill. He took the shirt and opened it up. “This is great,” he whispered. He shoved his wallet back in his pocket and put the shirt on over the one he was wearing.
“You’re going to be so hot in that,” Shannon said, tracing a finger over the stickers on the table.
“So?” Clark asked, admiring his new vestment. “This is the coolest thing I own.”
Christian leaned over the table and pointed to a long-sleeve shirt with a phosphorescent rib cage emblazoned on it. “I want that one,” he said reverently. He stared, open-mouthed, as she reached into the box and pulled it out. He gave her his money and carefully took the shirt with both hands. He backed out of the crowd, opening the folded shirt as he went. He stood behind the throng of people, holding the shirt up in the air.
“That’s nice,” Shannon said, joining him.
Christian just nodded. He pulled the shirt over his head, looking down, disdainfully, at the streaks his make-up left on the collar. He snapped out of the trance and looked over at Shannon. “Are you getting anything?”
“At these prices?” she asked. “Some of us are still punk enough to not have money.”
“Some of you are just too lazy to get a job,” Andy said.
She punched Andy in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. She took some of Christian’s shirt between her thumb and forefinger and rubbed it. “This is wicked thick,” she said. “You could wear this in the winter.” She smiled and looked back at the price hanging below the shirt on the wall. “I wish I had the cash to get it.”
“I could get it for you,” Christian said. “I still have plenty of money.”
“You don’t mind me having the same shirt as you?” she asked.
“Not at all,” he said, pushing past the people again. He made the purchase and came back to her. “Merry Christmas,” he said, handing it over.
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”
“Don’t worry about,” Christian said. “It’s a gift.”
She looked at him, her eyes wide. “Really?” When he nodded, she said, “Thanks Chris!” She threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek, plastering her lips with his makeup. She took a step back and pulled the shirt over her head. “This is great!”
Clark coughed. “And what about the rest of us?” he asked, putting his arm around Andy. “I wouldn’t mind another shirt if you’re doling out the cash.”
“Sorry,” Christian said. “I gave you a ride here.”
“Well that’s hardly fair,” Clark moaned, pushing Andy away from him.
On the stage, four guys in punk uniform were setting up musical equipment and tuning instruments. Other men in green “STAFF”shirts were deftly moving around them, helping to plug in and place equipment. When the band started sound-checking, Christian led them all to the front. By the time the sound was finished, a small crowd had gathered at the stage.
“We should just stay here all night,” Clark said. “To make sure we’re here when the Misfits start.” He leaned on the barricade and stared up at the leather and spike clad band sneering on stage. “These guys look like they should be good,” he said.
“I hope so,” Shannon said, leaning next to him.
The four of them clung madly to the barricade as the first band beat their instruments. Christian stared longingly as a few, tiny mosh pits opened up in the center of the crowd, but in the end, he stayed with his companions. A few people in the crowd cheered the band along, but most of the black-clad fans with devilocks hissed at them and yelled for the Misfits. Christian did the same. When the band completed their last song, they were greeted with a hail of saliva. They yelled at the crowd, flipped them off and exited quickly.
The next band was more of the same. They came out in full greaser attire, head to toe, pompadour to creepers. The crowd was growing more and more restless. They only sound that could be heard between songs, was the hateful cry of “Fuck you! Misfits!” At first, only plastic water bottles were hurled at the band, but it progressed quickly to tumblers and beer bottles. Half way through their set, the band stopped. They were greeted with the first cries of approval all night.
“This is fucking awesome!” Christian exclaimed, a smile beaming from ear-to-ear. Sweat had made his make-up start to run, and the lines of his finely drawn Crimson Ghost were smudged.
“This is what punk rock is all about!” Clark answered, grabbing Christian’s gloved hand.
“Oh yeah,” Andy said sarcastically. “A bottle missed my head by inches, and this is what punk rock is supposed to be about.”
“Did you get hit?” Shannon asked.
“No,” he answered.
“Then what are you complaining about?” she cried ecstatically.
Christian turned to the stage and draped himself over the barricade. “They’re up next,” he said, his voice nearly a squeak. “In a few minutes, they’ll be out here. Right here,” he said, pointing to the stage a few feet away.
Large bouncers walked hurriedly back and forth between the barricade and stage. One with a ‘Misfits: Crew” shirt stretched over his muscular frame batted Christian’s hand out of the way as he walked by.
The four of them leaned against the barricade, staring at the stage as roadies and club employees hurried about; setting up microphones; tuning the wicked, axe-like guitars; and checking levels. When the two men in crew shirts pulled the crimson sheet off the drum-set covered in foot-long spikes, the crowd cheered. Christian looked around and did the same. The two roadies looked back, cocked eyebrows and left the stage.
Slowly, the crew began to filter away. The crowd cheered as the lights dimmed, but fell silent again when they turned on a moment later. The crowd grew restless and began stomping their feet, chanting “Misfits! Misfits!” Clark and Christian joined in, shaking the barricade. The chant rose to a crescendo and faded as quickly as it started.
After a few minutes of silence, Christian said, “I wish they would just hurry up and get the fuck out here. What time is it?”
Shannon pulled a wrist watch out of the zippered hip pocket of her pants. “It’s a little before eleven,” she said, putting it away.
“I bet they wait until midnight,” Clark said. “I bet they don’t come out until the Witching Hour!”
“I hope not!” Andy cried. “I don’t want to sit here for another hour before they decide to come out.”
“Same here,” Christian said, his voice tense. “I want them out here right now! I don’t want to wait all night to see them! It’s bad enough that we had to endure those opening bands.” He shook his head. “This is crazy! What are they waiting for?” He grabbed the barricade with both hands and wrenched it back and forth just as the crowd began to chant, “Misfits! Misfits!” again. Christian howled along with them, slamming his boot against the floor repeatedly.
The chanting continued unabated for several minutes, until the lights dimmed again. A huge cheer went up again as spotlights struck the stage. The menacing lick of a guitar thundered forth from the speakers, and the monstrous din of the crowd began to grow. A droning, demonic introduction rolled forth as a man wrapped in red robes and a skull mask crept on stage, carrying a torch in one hand and beckoning the crowd to cheer with the other. Make-up-encrusted punks began jumping over each other to clap his extended, skeletal-gloved hand. A bloody, devilocked man in medical scrubs crawled out on the stage and slithered around behind the fiend. He slid behind the drums and began to beat them with the music. As two shirtless and devilocked men with the builds of professional wrestlers took their places on stage, each wielding one of the hellish guitars, the maniacal crowd lost any hint of control. Christian began screaming like a madman, pounding on the barricade with both hands. The Crimson Ghost exited the stage and returned momentarily, dragging a heavy chain attached to a young-looking man in a straight jacket. His face was made-up to resemble the Fiend’s, and his neck was covered in blood, running from the drawn-on slices with penciled stitches. As the diabolical introduction reached its climax, the young man burst from the jacket and began rolling around, grasping a microphone in the sleeve of his jacket, wailing like a banshee into it.
Christian exploded into motion, screaming every word, thrashing around into the mosh-pit, whose maw gaped as soon as the first song began. Leather-clad punks began clashing with long-haired metalheads, striking and jumping on each other in a well-rehearsed orgy of violence. Christian spun like a madman, his fists crashing into everything in his way. When he fell, he twisted like an injured animal, breaking away from anyone who tried to help him up, bursting back into the pit. Between songs was the only time he paused, nearly doubling over in an attempt to catch his breath. He slam-danced through every song until the band exited the stage and all the lights went black.
Not sated, the chanting began again, along with the stomping of several hundred booted feet. The tension in the room was like electricity, crackling almost visibly in the air. Christian tensed again, standing ridged in the middle of the defunct pit. All around him, punks and long-hairs were stomping and shouting for more. He didn’t move, his face a mix of fear and anticipation.
Clark picked his way through the crowd and laid a hand on Christian’s sweaty shoulder. “Let’s get out of here before the traffic get’s bad.”
Christian spun to face him. Most of the make-up had run, leaving muddy white and black streaks all over his face. His teeth were clenched and his lips pulled tight over them. Clark was taken aback by his wild eyes. “That can’t be the end,” Christian snarled. “They haven’t played ‘Halloween’ yet! They haven’t played ‘Die, Die My Darling’ yet! They haven’t played...”
His words were cut short by the vicious strum of a guitar. He turned back to the stage as the young-looking singer, having long ago lost the straight-jacket in favor of a sleeveless skeleton shirt, came back on. He grabbed the microphone off the stand and said, “Now everybody behave.”
The crowd cheered.
The wrestler-like guitarist and bassist returned to the stage as well. “It’s far from over!” the bassist bellowed. The three of them conferred as the drummer mounted his dais.
The singer approached the front of the stage and screamed, “Mommy!” The music started and Christian exploded into motion again, thrashing about, knocking Clark out of the erupting pit. His frenzied dance grew in fury steadily until the music stopped abruptly.
Christian froze, his body as tense as a coiled snake. The crowd rumbled at the extended silence. The singer smiled, the upset caused by his refusal to satiate them seeming to excite him. Finally, almost begrudgingly, he rose the microphone to his lips and screamed out over no music.
Christian’s arms hung in mid-air, his fingers curled like claws as his whole body forced the lyrics out along with the singer. “Mommy!” he screamed. “Can I go out and kill tonight?!”
Immediately, the music started again, faster than before. Christian became its insane vessel, pushing him harder and harder. He belted out the words along with the band, thrashing like a madman. For Christian, the remaining songs blended into one, spinning and twirling until the band exited the stage as quickly as they had come out. He paused, spent, but ready for more. He stood erect and looked around when the lights came on, finding Clark, Andy and Shannon as they picked their way through the crowd towards him.
“Let’s get out of here,” Andy said, taking the lead.
Christian said nothing, only nodded, digging his car-keys out of his pocket. He shoved them into Andy’s hand and said, “You drive, I can’t.”
They filed towards the door. Clark stopped and pointed to a tall man with a skeletal motif on the back of his leather jacket, standing with a shorter, heavier kid in an Emperor T-shirt. “There’s Rubin Valentine and Todd Filth,” Clark said. He squeezed through the crowd and called out, “Todd!”
Filth turned around and smiled. Clark shook hands with both of them and Filth said, “Great show! That was one of the best times I’ve ever seen them.”
Rubin pinched the shoulder of Todd’s shirt. “Hey, Doc,” he said. “Let’s get a drink before we leave.”
“Road beers,” Todd agreed. Todd waved and the two of them made their way to the bar. Christian led his group into the chill night.
Christian was the first to reach the car, stumbling and falling against the back seat driver’s side door. He put his face in his hands and molded his body against the car. Clark and Shannon ran up and leaned next to him, laughing, as Andy walked across the parking lot.
“That was fucking incredible,” Christian cried through his hands. He flopped over on his back and stared at Shannon. “My life is complete now,” he said. “Now I can go die.”
She was quiet for a moment, looking over his face and smiling. “It was great,” she said at last, emphasizing her words with a sweet laugh. “I don’t think it was that great, but... Jesus! What a show!”
Clark shook his head as Andy reached the car. “I knew it was going to be good,” he said, still panting. “I didn’t know it was going to be that good.” He playfully punched Andy’s shoulder as he arrived at the car. “Well?” he asked. “What did you think?”
Andy shrugged and curled his lips, looking at the three of them sternly. His face broke a moment later though, and he said, “It was great! I’m glad you convinced me to go.” He shoved Shannon’s balled-up shirt into her hands.
“I’ve got the backseat on the way home,” Christian said. “I’m fucking sleeping. You guys don’t have a big day ahead of you.”
“I do!” Andy protested. “Andy you’re making me drive!”
Christian shrugged. “Clark doesn’t even have a permit, and I’ve tried to teach Shannon to drive.” He looked at her and smiled. “Trust me, Andy, I’d rather have you driving tired than her driving at all.”
“Oh, fuck you!” she cried, laughing boisterously. She punched him hard in the shoulder and fell against him. Christian went rigid and wrapped his sweaty arm around her, holding her tightly as she laughed into his rib cage.
Clark reached over and tapped her on the shoulder. When she stood up and looked at him, he smiled and said, “Shotgun.”
She shrugged. “I’ll sleep in the back too. You can stay up front and keep Andy awake.”
Christian tapped the door. “Open it up,” he said to Andy. “It’s cold, and I’m all sweaty.”
“Jesus!” Clark cried. “It’s not fucking cold out, you pussy.”
Andy unlocked the driver’s door and got in, reaching back to unlock the backseat for Christian and Shannon before the passenger’s door for Clark. Shannon got in and slid across the seat, followed by Christian. As soon as Clark got in, he rolled the window down an inch and produced a cigarette from his pocket and lit it.
“Are you going to going to have the window open the whole ride,” Shannon moaned.
“Relax,” Clark said, sucking in a big puff. “This is my last one until I make Andy stop.”
“I thought you were going to run out inside,” Christian said.
Clark turned around and smiled. “During that show,” he hissed. “I only needed one during that awful second band.” He fell back against the seat and stretched his arms. “God damn! That was like really great sex!” He sucked in and exhaled a cloud of smoke that was pulled out the window as Andy turned out of the parking lot. “Michale clapped my hand, did you see it?”
Christian shook his head. “I didn’t see anything but bodies flying.”
Shannon shivered and fell against Christian. “I wish I’d brought a coat.”
Christian pulled his trench coat out from underneath him and draped it over the two of them. “That was the best fucking thing to ever happen in my whole life...” He trailed off, sinking down into the seat, wrapping his arms around Shannon beneath the coat. “I thought you said you were going to hook up with one of them?” He whispered in her ear.
“Shit,” she mumbled, her eyes half-lidded. “They’re all old men, except Michale, and he had chicks all over him at the end.” She nuzzled against him. “I didn’t stand a chance against any of them.”
“Of course you did,” Christian mumbled. When she didn’t respond for a few seconds, he looked up and said, “Now don’t you be wrecking my car now.”
“You just fucking go to sleep,” Andy said back. “You have nice long dreams about how you’re all rested for school tomorrow, and about me dragging through my classes because I had to drive your ass home.” He smiled and looked up and Christian in the rear-view mirror. “I’ll make sure to hit every pot-hole so you can sleep well.”
Christian snorted. “You just quiet down and get us home.”
As they got on the highway, Shannon curled up against Christian and fell asleep. In the darkness of the backseat, he wrapped an arm around her and wept.
Christian sat against the wall, his knees pulled up to his chest. He rested his chin on his knees and wrapped his arms around his legs. Andy sat on his left in a similar position, with one hand on the ground, his fingers drumming slowly on the concrete. Shannon sat on his right, her legs thrust outward, her head leaned back, resting on her intertwined fingers. Clark stood, leaning against the wall next to her. A long line extended past them, all the way to the doors of the grocery store three stores down.
“What time is it?” Clark asked, thumping the heel of his combat boot against the brick wall. He looked listlessly down at Christian.
Andy brought his wrist up to his face. “It’s five after eight,” he said, letting his hand slump back to the concrete. “Maybe the doors will open soon.”
Shannon shook her head as muffled guitar riffs floated through the walls, followed by singing. “I don’t think so,” she said. “If they’re still sound-checking, they won’t be opening the doors for a while. The opening band will still have to set up.”
“I don’t fucking care,” Christian said. “We’re here, the band is inside.” He shook his head. “I don’t mind the wait at all.” He tensed his arms, pulling his legs closer to his torso.
Clark looked down at him, but said nothing. He fished a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and shook one out. He looked into the pack as he inserted the stick in his mouth. “Fuck,” he groaned. “I’ve got two left, I’m going to be out before the show’s over.” He replaced the pack in his pocket and pulled out his Zippo.
“Maybe you should quit,” Andy said.
“Maybe you should start,” Clark snapped, lighting the cigarette.
Shannon craned her neck and peered down the line. “This place is going to be packed.”
Christian shook his head. “It’s huge in there. I’ve heard that a lot bigger bands than this Misfits have played here. Even if we don’t go to the front right away, we should be able to get right up there.”
Clark smiled. “I thought you didn’t want to be up front?”
“Well, I’m going to be in the pit, but I want to be up front when they come out. After that, the hell with it.” He got to his feet and looked down the line to the doors. “I’ve never been this excited before,” he said, his hands balling into fists, and punching the wall next to Clark lightly. “I think this is the defining moment in my life. Everything I do after this will be marked by this show.”
Clark snorted. “Pretty dull life.”
“You don’t understand,” Christian said. “I’ve been waiting for this show for what... Four years?” Shannon held her hand up to him and he pulled her to her feet. “Everything I’ve done has been leading up to this moment. Everything I do after this will be marked by this show.”
“Chris,” Shannon said, brushing dust off her buttocks. “I love the band too, but come on! It’s just a band. Don’t let them control your life.”
“They aren’t controlling my life, they’re guiding it.” He pursed his lips. “I wish there was time. I would go get a Crimson Ghost tattoo on my face.”
“What?” Clark asked. “Before the show?”
“No, not before the show,” Christian said. “I was just thinking out loud.”
Andy stood up. “You’ve said a lot of dumb things, Chris,” he said, brushing dust off himself as well. “I think that one takes the cake. It’s bad enough to get tattoos of bands you’re not in, but to get one on your face is about as bad as it gets.” He leaned against the bricks.
“I’d be careful,” Shannon said. “At least half the people here probably have Misfits tattoos.”
“That’s what’s scaring me,” Andy said.
“Don’t be messing with my brothers,” Christian said, punching him playfully in the arm. He craned his neck and stared at the front doors. “The sound check is done, maybe they’ll let us in soon.”
Andy looked at his watch. “It’s only quarter after,” he said. “We probably have another 45 minutes before we even move.” He stretched his arms and leaned back against the wall. “People are still showing up. I bet they’ll have no trouble getting in, or getting near the front.” He looked towards the end of the line and back at Christian, a wry smile on his face.
“Shut the fuck up,” Christian said. “You all could have found another ride, I’m sure. You didn’t have to ride with me.” He put his back to the wall and pounded it with his fists. “Then I could have come up here in the morning like I wanted.” He paused, looking at each of them. “I could have been the first person in line. Then I wouldn’t have wasted my whole day in detention.”
“No,” Shannon said. “You would have wasted your whole day sitting at the doors of a club that hasn’t opened, even after we’ve been here over an hour.”
“I still would have been first in,” he replied sheepishly. “Who would be laughing then?”
“Us,” Clark said.
Christian shrugged. “I’m sure Mark Dorals is coming up,” he said dejectedly. “You probably could have ridden with him.”
Clark shook his head. “Last I knew, he wasn’t sure. All the old punks were playing it by ear. None of them knew if they were coming up or not.”
Shannon snorted. “Probably just going to get drunk.”
“So, is it your goal to end up like that?” Andy asked. “To be thirty-something, still with leather and spikes, still drinking with high school kids because all the people your own age have grown up?”
“Why not?” Clark asked. “Even at eighteen, some of my friends are all grown up.”
Andy looked at him, half offended. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’d like to think that means I’m not entirely an adult.”
“No way,” Christian said. “I’m not going to be like that. I’m going to make a mark.” He nodded to Andy. “When I’m their age, people are going to know my name. Everyone in America is going to say, ‘Christian Duke? I remember what he did.’”
“What are you going to do?” Shannon asked.
“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” Christian replied, giving her a wry look “It will be big.” He pointed to the beginning of the line, where the glass double doors had opened. Two buzz-cut ogres that had been poured into green “STAFF” shirts were frisking the people at the front of the line. “I think it’s time to go in,” Christian said. He pulled his wallet out of his pants pocket and produced his ticket. “This is it,” he said. “This is the moment of truth.” The line started to shuffle along, and Christian slid past Andy.
“I don’t think I like you cutting ahead of me,” Andy said, grabbing Christian’s shoulder, and half-heartedly pulled him back.
Christian smiled and pushed Andy against the wall. “I think if you do that again, you’ll walk home.”
“And who will drive when you get too tired?” Andy asked. “Neither of these two delinquents are old enough,” he said, pointing to Shannon and Clark.
“This delinquent will still rip your balls off,” Shannon said, pantomiming the action.
“And eat them!” Clark said. He grunted and doubled over as Shannon elbowed him in the stomach. He pulled his wallet out and looked inside. “Oh no, Chris,” he said mockingly. “I lost my ticket. I guess we have to go home.”
“Here’s my keys,” Christian said, pulling them out of his pocket. “Wait in the car.”
Clark smirked and pulled his ticket out. “I can’t believe you’d make me wait in the car.”
“Try me,” Christian said without looking.
“I’m surprised you didn’t hold them for us,” Shannon said, pulling her ticket out of her pants pocket. “We should be honored that you trust us that much. I thought for sure you were going to collect them as soon as we bought them, or even get them yourself.”
Christian shrugged. “If you lose them, it’s your own fault, not mine. I was nice enough to bring you here. If you screw up your part, I’m not responsible.” He handed his ticket to the overly-muscled man in clothes three sizes too small. On the bouncer’s command, Christian raised his arms and allowed himself to be frisked.
“No weapons, no cameras, nothing?” the bouncer asked as he patted down Christian’s sides.
“Nothing,” Christian replied.
“Over or under?” the bouncer asked.
“Under,” Christian replied.
The second bouncer X-ed his hand with a black marker and pointed in the door with his thumb. Christian stepped inside and waited for his companions as they underwent the same treatment.
“This place is huge,” Shannon said, looking around in awe as she entered.
The club had only a few people already in, most of them already at the bar. A merchandise table was set up on the wall opposite the door, and the stage dominated the wall between them. Several men and women in shirts emblazoned with “Misfits Crew,” were behind the table. A group of mohawked punks were setting up a drum set on the stage.
Clark and Andy entered and joined them.
“Let’s go check out the shirts,” Clark said, pointing to the table. “Let’s see if we can get Andy wearing the shirt of the band he’s going to see.”
“I don’t think so,” he replied.
As they crossed the room, Clark asked, “Do you see Todd Filth or Rubin Valentine around?”
Christian craned his neck and said, “I don’t see them. I’m sure Todd would insist they get here early too.”
They pushed through the growing crowd to the front. Various books, magazines and stickers were laid out neatly with prices taped below them. On the wall behind them hung half a dozen T-shirts, each with a different depiction of bones and gore.
“I’m in heaven,” Christian whispered to Shannon. She looked at him and smiled.
“Can I help you?” asked a woman in a “Crew” shirt.
Clark leaned over the table and pointed at one of the shirts. “Can I have that shirt,” he said, digging his wallet out of his pocket. As the woman pulled the shirt out of a box, Clark handed her a $20 bill. He took the shirt and opened it up. “This is great,” he whispered. He shoved his wallet back in his pocket and put the shirt on over the one he was wearing.
“You’re going to be so hot in that,” Shannon said, tracing a finger over the stickers on the table.
“So?” Clark asked, admiring his new vestment. “This is the coolest thing I own.”
Christian leaned over the table and pointed to a long-sleeve shirt with a phosphorescent rib cage emblazoned on it. “I want that one,” he said reverently. He stared, open-mouthed, as she reached into the box and pulled it out. He gave her his money and carefully took the shirt with both hands. He backed out of the crowd, opening the folded shirt as he went. He stood behind the throng of people, holding the shirt up in the air.
“That’s nice,” Shannon said, joining him.
Christian just nodded. He pulled the shirt over his head, looking down, disdainfully, at the streaks his make-up left on the collar. He snapped out of the trance and looked over at Shannon. “Are you getting anything?”
“At these prices?” she asked. “Some of us are still punk enough to not have money.”
“Some of you are just too lazy to get a job,” Andy said.
She punched Andy in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. She took some of Christian’s shirt between her thumb and forefinger and rubbed it. “This is wicked thick,” she said. “You could wear this in the winter.” She smiled and looked back at the price hanging below the shirt on the wall. “I wish I had the cash to get it.”
“I could get it for you,” Christian said. “I still have plenty of money.”
“You don’t mind me having the same shirt as you?” she asked.
“Not at all,” he said, pushing past the people again. He made the purchase and came back to her. “Merry Christmas,” he said, handing it over.
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”
“Don’t worry about,” Christian said. “It’s a gift.”
She looked at him, her eyes wide. “Really?” When he nodded, she said, “Thanks Chris!” She threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek, plastering her lips with his makeup. She took a step back and pulled the shirt over her head. “This is great!”
Clark coughed. “And what about the rest of us?” he asked, putting his arm around Andy. “I wouldn’t mind another shirt if you’re doling out the cash.”
“Sorry,” Christian said. “I gave you a ride here.”
“Well that’s hardly fair,” Clark moaned, pushing Andy away from him.
On the stage, four guys in punk uniform were setting up musical equipment and tuning instruments. Other men in green “STAFF”shirts were deftly moving around them, helping to plug in and place equipment. When the band started sound-checking, Christian led them all to the front. By the time the sound was finished, a small crowd had gathered at the stage.
“We should just stay here all night,” Clark said. “To make sure we’re here when the Misfits start.” He leaned on the barricade and stared up at the leather and spike clad band sneering on stage. “These guys look like they should be good,” he said.
“I hope so,” Shannon said, leaning next to him.
The four of them clung madly to the barricade as the first band beat their instruments. Christian stared longingly as a few, tiny mosh pits opened up in the center of the crowd, but in the end, he stayed with his companions. A few people in the crowd cheered the band along, but most of the black-clad fans with devilocks hissed at them and yelled for the Misfits. Christian did the same. When the band completed their last song, they were greeted with a hail of saliva. They yelled at the crowd, flipped them off and exited quickly.
The next band was more of the same. They came out in full greaser attire, head to toe, pompadour to creepers. The crowd was growing more and more restless. They only sound that could be heard between songs, was the hateful cry of “Fuck you! Misfits!” At first, only plastic water bottles were hurled at the band, but it progressed quickly to tumblers and beer bottles. Half way through their set, the band stopped. They were greeted with the first cries of approval all night.
“This is fucking awesome!” Christian exclaimed, a smile beaming from ear-to-ear. Sweat had made his make-up start to run, and the lines of his finely drawn Crimson Ghost were smudged.
“This is what punk rock is all about!” Clark answered, grabbing Christian’s gloved hand.
“Oh yeah,” Andy said sarcastically. “A bottle missed my head by inches, and this is what punk rock is supposed to be about.”
“Did you get hit?” Shannon asked.
“No,” he answered.
“Then what are you complaining about?” she cried ecstatically.
Christian turned to the stage and draped himself over the barricade. “They’re up next,” he said, his voice nearly a squeak. “In a few minutes, they’ll be out here. Right here,” he said, pointing to the stage a few feet away.
Large bouncers walked hurriedly back and forth between the barricade and stage. One with a ‘Misfits: Crew” shirt stretched over his muscular frame batted Christian’s hand out of the way as he walked by.
The four of them leaned against the barricade, staring at the stage as roadies and club employees hurried about; setting up microphones; tuning the wicked, axe-like guitars; and checking levels. When the two men in crew shirts pulled the crimson sheet off the drum-set covered in foot-long spikes, the crowd cheered. Christian looked around and did the same. The two roadies looked back, cocked eyebrows and left the stage.
Slowly, the crew began to filter away. The crowd cheered as the lights dimmed, but fell silent again when they turned on a moment later. The crowd grew restless and began stomping their feet, chanting “Misfits! Misfits!” Clark and Christian joined in, shaking the barricade. The chant rose to a crescendo and faded as quickly as it started.
After a few minutes of silence, Christian said, “I wish they would just hurry up and get the fuck out here. What time is it?”
Shannon pulled a wrist watch out of the zippered hip pocket of her pants. “It’s a little before eleven,” she said, putting it away.
“I bet they wait until midnight,” Clark said. “I bet they don’t come out until the Witching Hour!”
“I hope not!” Andy cried. “I don’t want to sit here for another hour before they decide to come out.”
“Same here,” Christian said, his voice tense. “I want them out here right now! I don’t want to wait all night to see them! It’s bad enough that we had to endure those opening bands.” He shook his head. “This is crazy! What are they waiting for?” He grabbed the barricade with both hands and wrenched it back and forth just as the crowd began to chant, “Misfits! Misfits!” again. Christian howled along with them, slamming his boot against the floor repeatedly.
The chanting continued unabated for several minutes, until the lights dimmed again. A huge cheer went up again as spotlights struck the stage. The menacing lick of a guitar thundered forth from the speakers, and the monstrous din of the crowd began to grow. A droning, demonic introduction rolled forth as a man wrapped in red robes and a skull mask crept on stage, carrying a torch in one hand and beckoning the crowd to cheer with the other. Make-up-encrusted punks began jumping over each other to clap his extended, skeletal-gloved hand. A bloody, devilocked man in medical scrubs crawled out on the stage and slithered around behind the fiend. He slid behind the drums and began to beat them with the music. As two shirtless and devilocked men with the builds of professional wrestlers took their places on stage, each wielding one of the hellish guitars, the maniacal crowd lost any hint of control. Christian began screaming like a madman, pounding on the barricade with both hands. The Crimson Ghost exited the stage and returned momentarily, dragging a heavy chain attached to a young-looking man in a straight jacket. His face was made-up to resemble the Fiend’s, and his neck was covered in blood, running from the drawn-on slices with penciled stitches. As the diabolical introduction reached its climax, the young man burst from the jacket and began rolling around, grasping a microphone in the sleeve of his jacket, wailing like a banshee into it.
Christian exploded into motion, screaming every word, thrashing around into the mosh-pit, whose maw gaped as soon as the first song began. Leather-clad punks began clashing with long-haired metalheads, striking and jumping on each other in a well-rehearsed orgy of violence. Christian spun like a madman, his fists crashing into everything in his way. When he fell, he twisted like an injured animal, breaking away from anyone who tried to help him up, bursting back into the pit. Between songs was the only time he paused, nearly doubling over in an attempt to catch his breath. He slam-danced through every song until the band exited the stage and all the lights went black.
Not sated, the chanting began again, along with the stomping of several hundred booted feet. The tension in the room was like electricity, crackling almost visibly in the air. Christian tensed again, standing ridged in the middle of the defunct pit. All around him, punks and long-hairs were stomping and shouting for more. He didn’t move, his face a mix of fear and anticipation.
Clark picked his way through the crowd and laid a hand on Christian’s sweaty shoulder. “Let’s get out of here before the traffic get’s bad.”
Christian spun to face him. Most of the make-up had run, leaving muddy white and black streaks all over his face. His teeth were clenched and his lips pulled tight over them. Clark was taken aback by his wild eyes. “That can’t be the end,” Christian snarled. “They haven’t played ‘Halloween’ yet! They haven’t played ‘Die, Die My Darling’ yet! They haven’t played...”
His words were cut short by the vicious strum of a guitar. He turned back to the stage as the young-looking singer, having long ago lost the straight-jacket in favor of a sleeveless skeleton shirt, came back on. He grabbed the microphone off the stand and said, “Now everybody behave.”
The crowd cheered.
The wrestler-like guitarist and bassist returned to the stage as well. “It’s far from over!” the bassist bellowed. The three of them conferred as the drummer mounted his dais.
The singer approached the front of the stage and screamed, “Mommy!” The music started and Christian exploded into motion again, thrashing about, knocking Clark out of the erupting pit. His frenzied dance grew in fury steadily until the music stopped abruptly.
Christian froze, his body as tense as a coiled snake. The crowd rumbled at the extended silence. The singer smiled, the upset caused by his refusal to satiate them seeming to excite him. Finally, almost begrudgingly, he rose the microphone to his lips and screamed out over no music.
Christian’s arms hung in mid-air, his fingers curled like claws as his whole body forced the lyrics out along with the singer. “Mommy!” he screamed. “Can I go out and kill tonight?!”
Immediately, the music started again, faster than before. Christian became its insane vessel, pushing him harder and harder. He belted out the words along with the band, thrashing like a madman. For Christian, the remaining songs blended into one, spinning and twirling until the band exited the stage as quickly as they had come out. He paused, spent, but ready for more. He stood erect and looked around when the lights came on, finding Clark, Andy and Shannon as they picked their way through the crowd towards him.
“Let’s get out of here,” Andy said, taking the lead.
Christian said nothing, only nodded, digging his car-keys out of his pocket. He shoved them into Andy’s hand and said, “You drive, I can’t.”
They filed towards the door. Clark stopped and pointed to a tall man with a skeletal motif on the back of his leather jacket, standing with a shorter, heavier kid in an Emperor T-shirt. “There’s Rubin Valentine and Todd Filth,” Clark said. He squeezed through the crowd and called out, “Todd!”
Filth turned around and smiled. Clark shook hands with both of them and Filth said, “Great show! That was one of the best times I’ve ever seen them.”
Rubin pinched the shoulder of Todd’s shirt. “Hey, Doc,” he said. “Let’s get a drink before we leave.”
“Road beers,” Todd agreed. Todd waved and the two of them made their way to the bar. Christian led his group into the chill night.
Christian was the first to reach the car, stumbling and falling against the back seat driver’s side door. He put his face in his hands and molded his body against the car. Clark and Shannon ran up and leaned next to him, laughing, as Andy walked across the parking lot.
“That was fucking incredible,” Christian cried through his hands. He flopped over on his back and stared at Shannon. “My life is complete now,” he said. “Now I can go die.”
She was quiet for a moment, looking over his face and smiling. “It was great,” she said at last, emphasizing her words with a sweet laugh. “I don’t think it was that great, but... Jesus! What a show!”
Clark shook his head as Andy reached the car. “I knew it was going to be good,” he said, still panting. “I didn’t know it was going to be that good.” He playfully punched Andy’s shoulder as he arrived at the car. “Well?” he asked. “What did you think?”
Andy shrugged and curled his lips, looking at the three of them sternly. His face broke a moment later though, and he said, “It was great! I’m glad you convinced me to go.” He shoved Shannon’s balled-up shirt into her hands.
“I’ve got the backseat on the way home,” Christian said. “I’m fucking sleeping. You guys don’t have a big day ahead of you.”
“I do!” Andy protested. “Andy you’re making me drive!”
Christian shrugged. “Clark doesn’t even have a permit, and I’ve tried to teach Shannon to drive.” He looked at her and smiled. “Trust me, Andy, I’d rather have you driving tired than her driving at all.”
“Oh, fuck you!” she cried, laughing boisterously. She punched him hard in the shoulder and fell against him. Christian went rigid and wrapped his sweaty arm around her, holding her tightly as she laughed into his rib cage.
Clark reached over and tapped her on the shoulder. When she stood up and looked at him, he smiled and said, “Shotgun.”
She shrugged. “I’ll sleep in the back too. You can stay up front and keep Andy awake.”
Christian tapped the door. “Open it up,” he said to Andy. “It’s cold, and I’m all sweaty.”
“Jesus!” Clark cried. “It’s not fucking cold out, you pussy.”
Andy unlocked the driver’s door and got in, reaching back to unlock the backseat for Christian and Shannon before the passenger’s door for Clark. Shannon got in and slid across the seat, followed by Christian. As soon as Clark got in, he rolled the window down an inch and produced a cigarette from his pocket and lit it.
“Are you going to going to have the window open the whole ride,” Shannon moaned.
“Relax,” Clark said, sucking in a big puff. “This is my last one until I make Andy stop.”
“I thought you were going to run out inside,” Christian said.
Clark turned around and smiled. “During that show,” he hissed. “I only needed one during that awful second band.” He fell back against the seat and stretched his arms. “God damn! That was like really great sex!” He sucked in and exhaled a cloud of smoke that was pulled out the window as Andy turned out of the parking lot. “Michale clapped my hand, did you see it?”
Christian shook his head. “I didn’t see anything but bodies flying.”
Shannon shivered and fell against Christian. “I wish I’d brought a coat.”
Christian pulled his trench coat out from underneath him and draped it over the two of them. “That was the best fucking thing to ever happen in my whole life...” He trailed off, sinking down into the seat, wrapping his arms around Shannon beneath the coat. “I thought you said you were going to hook up with one of them?” He whispered in her ear.
“Shit,” she mumbled, her eyes half-lidded. “They’re all old men, except Michale, and he had chicks all over him at the end.” She nuzzled against him. “I didn’t stand a chance against any of them.”
“Of course you did,” Christian mumbled. When she didn’t respond for a few seconds, he looked up and said, “Now don’t you be wrecking my car now.”
“You just fucking go to sleep,” Andy said back. “You have nice long dreams about how you’re all rested for school tomorrow, and about me dragging through my classes because I had to drive your ass home.” He smiled and looked up and Christian in the rear-view mirror. “I’ll make sure to hit every pot-hole so you can sleep well.”
Christian snorted. “You just quiet down and get us home.”
As they got on the highway, Shannon curled up against Christian and fell asleep. In the darkness of the backseat, he wrapped an arm around her and wept.
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