I decided to place the following fan fiction here for criticism before sending it elsewhere to be archived. I hope nobody gets overly angry.
It is crossposted (I hope) to alt.horror.cthulhu, alt.music.darkest-of-the-hillside-thickets, and alt.tv.daria so the maximum number of people can see how badly I need therapy and/or medication.
Apparently, it is too long to post all at once, so it will be in two or three pieces.
The Shadow over Lawndale
Daria walked at her usual casual pace toward Jane's house. Her best friend had called her and insisted that she come over immediately. She paused for a moment when she saw Trent's car parked in front of the Lane home.
"Great", she thought to herself. "Maybe I'll get an opportunity to make a fool of myself in front of Trent again. Just the thing to brighten my day."
Daria rang the doorbell and was surprised when Jane immediately opened the door and stepped outside, with Trent in tow.
"Hey, Daria.
"Hey, Jane�Trent."
"Hey, Daria", Trent replied, after his usual lag behind the pace of the rest of the world.
Jane grabbed Daria by the arm and began leading her toward Trent's car. "C'mon. Trent's taking us out. We don't want to be late."
As they reached the car, Daria immediately opened the back door and got in, ignoring the dirty look that Jane flashed her.
"Tough", Daria thought to herself as Jane sat in the front seat next to Trent. "She can play yenta with me and her brother on her own damn time."
"So, um, where are we going, exactly?", Daria asked.
"McGrundy's Pub", Jane replied. "There's a band playing there that Trent thinks you'll like."
"You mean that they still haven't gotten their liquor license back? You'd think that the city would have forgotten that incident by now."
"Turns out that they've been making more money without it than they did with it, so they never reapplied."
"In other words, they realized that they can make more profit if their product doesn't render the customers unconscious while they still have money left to spend."
"Pretty much."
"So what's this band we're going to see?"
"Trent was telling me a little about them. They're called 'The Darkest of the Hillside Thickets'."
"The Who-of-the-What? And I thought 'Mystik Spiral' was ba�exotic."
"Hey, don't ask me. I'd never heard of them before today."
"They're a bunch of guys I know from Vancouver", Trent said with a smile. "They don't play much outside of Canada, except for some gaming conventions."
"Gaming conventions?", said Daria. "So basically, they're a bunch of fat guys with beards who live in their parents' basements and wear T-shirts that say things like�'Wizards Do It with Big Staffs'." She immediately winced painfully and blushed as Jane smirked at her and Trent smiled again. "Oh, God. I can't believe I just said that."
"Nah", replied Trent. "They're cool. They even have a few music videos and a recording contract." A small frown that could almost be considered jealous passed over Trent's face for a moment, before being replaced with his usual serene expression.
The car pulled into McGrundy's parking lot and after several attempts at parking, they went inside the crowded pub. As soon as they saw the band playing on stage, Daria and Jane both froze. Their mouths hung open.
"Either those guys have some serious wardrobe problems�", Jane began.
"�or living in Lawndale has finally destroyed what sanity we had left and we're experiencing some severe hallucinations", finished Daria.
"Oh, yeah", said Trent. "I forgot to mention, they always wear monster costumes when they perform. They're sort of 'theme band'"
"And that theme is 'We need to be medicated'", said Daria
"Interesting use of color though", observed Jane. "Like something the Guggenheim threw-up."
The drummer was wearing a glossy black body suit with bat-wings, a barbed tail, and a triangular mask, faceless except for eyeholes. The lead guitarist was in a blue-green scale-covered costume that looked like an unsuccessful mating of the Creature from the Black Lagoon and Kermit the Frog. The base guitarist wore a blue-furred costume with eyes on stalks and a vertical mouth full of sharp teeth on the top of its head. The backup vocalist appeared to be some sort of crustacean, with multiple clawed limbs extending from his torso. The lead singer was in a vivid red costume with tentacled arms and�
"Dear God!!", exclaimed Jane. "Please tell me that he's supposed to be some sort of cow!
"Yeah, Devil-cow", replied Trent. "Most people react that way the first time they see the udders. I keep telling Toren he should place them higher on the costume. I think he likes freaking people out."
"If Freud came back from the dead and saw that outfit, he'd die all over again", observed Daria.
"Heh. Good one Daria."
Daria, Jane, and Trent quickly found a table as the band began a new song.
Can you see my body Can you see it grow Do you see it throbbing Won't you watch it glow
I don't want it Make it end Stop this mad unsightly trend I don't want it Make it end Stop this mad unsightly trend Take this red-veined oddly angled stone
Can you hear the thunder Can you see it crack Can you see it stretching Stretching through the black Stirring in the steeple Up on Federal Hill Can't you feel it coming Coming for to kill
See the Haunter Watch it fly Membranes pushing to the sky See the three-lobed burning eye I am it It is I
Daria sat with a stunned look on her face. "Are they singing about�?"
"Yeah", replied Trent, "'The Haunter of the Dark'. A lot of their songs are inspired by H.P. Lovecraft stories."
"That's why Trent thought you'd like them", added Jane. "Though personally, I don't see why you would like Lovecraft. That whole business of humanity as a powerless and insignificant speck alone in a hostile and uncaring universe doesn't really seem to fit you."
"You found me out", Daria deadpanned. "I'm not really the upbeat Pollyanna everybody thinks I am."
The trio continued to watch the show, amused by the band's onstage antics as they performed songs about shoggoths, insectoid love affairs, suffocating time travelers, and rampaging robotic engines of teenage vengeance.
"You were right", admitted Daria. "These guys are pretty cool�for raving lunatics."
"But as long as they're raving, we're safe", said Jane. "Remember, it's the quiet ones you have to watch out for."
An exaggerated look of shock appeared on Jane's face and she made a big show of edging away from Daria while casting nervous sidelong glances at her friend.
"Funny, Jane. I'll try not to be too quite while I'm planting my boot in your ass."
The Thickets finished their show and exited the stage, their place taken by a second, far more mundane band. After a while, two men approached the table. Daria recognized the Thickets' lead singer, a shorthaired man who sort of resembled a heavier, healthier, wide-awake Trent with wire-frame glasses and a general coating of stubble instead of a goatee. The second, a thin dark-haired man whose complexion and facial features suggested Native American ancestry, was a stranger. She suddenly realized that he must be the drummer, whose face had been covered during the show.
"Hey, Toren. Hey Jordan", Trent said as he nodded to the singer and drummer in turn. "Great show."
"Thanks", replied Toren. "So, who are your friends?"
"Oh, sorry. This is my sister Jane and her friend Daria Morgendorffer." He turned to the girls. "This is Toren Atkinson and Jordan Pratt."
"Nice to meet you", said Jane.
"Surreal, but nice", added Daria.
"So, what did you think of the show?", asked Toren.
"I'd have to say you were 'adequately excellent' musicians", replied Daria.
Toren's face split into a wide grin. "Ah, a fellow fan of the Old Gent. Without him, we'd probably all be performing lame love songs."
"A concept that is somehow even more frightening than your costumes."
"Hey, it works for Gwar."
"Now there's a convincing argument."
"Toren's an artist too", Trent added.
"Really?" asked Jane. "Me too. What do you do?"
"Mostly art for role-playing game companies", replied Toren.
"So, in other words, you draw women with breasts the size of basketballs, who are barely wearing chainmail bikinis", Daria commented dryly.
"He wishes", joked Jordan. "Not really his style. He usually ends up drawing otherworldly monsters and their victims. Human, of course."
"Grant Wood's 'American Gothic Horror'."
"Exactly", replied Toren. "Although I did once do a drawing called "Where the Old Ones Are."
"You don't mean�?" interjected Jane.
"Yeah. Lovecraft's Great Old Ones drawn in Maurice Sendak's style."
Jane smirked at the thought. "I'd love to get a look at that."
"Well�" Toren reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen and scrap of paper. He quickly scrawled a line of text and handed the note to Jane. "This is the address for my website. I have a lot of my art online, including that one."
The five of them continued to talk for over an hour. Or rather, four of them did. Trent resumed his normal behavior and his head was soon tipped back as he quietly snored.
Daria gestured toward Trent. "Sleeping�er�Beauty there told us that you usually don't perform outside of Canada. What brought you to Lawndale?"
Neither she nor Jane really noticed the uneasy look that quickly passed between Toren and Jordan.
"The show was just an opportunity while we were here", replied Jordan. "We came to town for�personal business."
--
The man stood quietly, looking down at the lit candles and bloodstains that covered the desk in front of him. He raised his head and glared at the towering creatures that waited in the shadows.
"They're here. Go. Kill them all."
--
Toren looked at a nearby clock and then turned rather sheepishly to the others. "Merrick, Bob, and Warren took the van to the hotel right after the show. Any chance Jordan and I can impose on you for a lift?"
"Sure thing", replied Jane. "Isn't helping each other in the Brotherhood of Artists bylaws, or something?"
"Assuming we can wake up Trent", added Daria.
Eventually, Trent was revived and the group walked outside to his car.
"This time you can ride in the front Daria", Jane quickly said. She placed the back of her hand to her head in a melodramatic pose. "I'll just have to suffer squeezed in the back with these two."
She didn't see Jordan roll his eyes and silently mouth the word "Jailbait" to Toren. Toren smirked and shrugged in response.
They climbed into the car and pulled out of the parking lot.
"So", asked Trent. "Where are we going?"
"The Dutchman Inn", replied Toren.
Jane tried to hold in her laughter. "At least that giant clog keeps any cockroaches from coming within a half-mile of the place."
"It has the same effect on a lot of humans", Daria added.
"What can I say. We're on a budget."
They had been riding for several minutes when their attention was suddenly caught by an unearthly wailing screech, like an electric guitar fed into a trash compactor. The source of the sound seemed to be getting progressively closer.
Trent!" Toren shouted. "Stop the car! Now!"
As Trent stepped on the brakes, the screeching was joined by the tortured sound of tearing metal as a pair of claws began tearing the roof of the car open. At the same time a creature resembling a blasphemous hybrid of human, bat, and wasp crashed down onto the hood of the car. The engine suddenly quit as something vital was crushed. The creature's beaked face glared through the windshield as its companion continued to work on the roof.
"Everybody out! Quickly!" Jordan yelled.
As everyone piled out of the car, a large caliber handgun suddenly appeared in Toren's hand. He hit each of the creatures with several rounds, staggering them, but doing no noticeable damage.
"Jordan, the one on the roof. I've got the other."
"I'm on it."
Jordan seemed to blur as he ran toward the creature faster than anything Daria, Jane, and Trent had ever seen. He made an effortless 20-foot leap onto the roof of the car and drove his fist into the monster's midsection with an audible crack. The creature shrieked and clamped its beak onto his left arm. Jordan just grinned.
"Sorry, no blood there for you to drain. Better luck next time."
He gripped the creature's left arm and, with a grunt of exertion and a wet tearing sound, ripped it from its socket in a spray of green ichor. He tossed the arm aside, pulled back his fist, and drove it straight through the creature's chest. With a gurgling whimper it collapsed, dead.
"Oops, guess there won't be a next time."