by Michael Richards
The door to Café Fun was a troublesome one to open. It had been built a hair too large and stuck against the frame, which made a terrible cracking sound when you tried to push it. If you could get past this, the door would fly open and send you headfirst into concrete. The rest of the building was something of a hipster cliché, with old show posters hanging on the walls alongside unrecognizable ironic memorabilia and some noticeably bad art. It was a small room, with a stage hidden in the corner. An occupancy sign noted it could hold a maximum of 132 people.
Working the bar was a woman that wore a deep red leather jacket, with bright red hair and eyes that would shine purple when she turned to the light. Her name was Beebee, and she was well known citywide as someone that you didn’t fuck with. One night a deeply intoxicated man had tried to flirt with her behind the bar; so she threw salt in his eyes, pinned him to the ground with the heel of her boot, and explained to him kindly the way in which a man should keep to himself. There were many anecdotes about Beebee, ranging from defensive encounters like this to the well-circulated rumor of her affiliation with Satan. Some were true. Others unconfirmed.
This Wednesday evening the Café drew a fair crowd, with about thirty people sipping coffee or cocktails while waiting for the festivities to begin. Wednesdays were ‘open mic night’ at the café, and it always drew a lively crowd. There were no real rules to the performances. Acts ranged from musicians and comedians to magicians and contortionists. The only thing guaranteed was a smorgasbord of strangeness and an elated crowd. Tonight’s show opened with a young man named Danny Coup, playing his guitar and singing sad songs about a girl that left him with a soothing and cigarette-stained voice. After his two songs, the crowd gave him a casual round of applause, if only to recognize the amount of time he had put into the act. Once the applause started to die down, a man yelled, drunk and slurred, from the dark booth across from the stage, “Drown the fucking crickets if you hear ‘em!”
The next performer was a comedian named Iko, with a blue mullet dressed in all-black clothes covered in pins and patches. Their routine began with a story about how their dog wouldn’t stop eating the couch and trying to hump inanimate objects on walks. It was followed by more tales of doggy disobedience, netting a few more laughs. What finally riled the crowd was when Iko suggested their dog could be better used as a sacrifice to Satan. At that moment, the crowd began hooting and hollering, settling on a stadium-like chant of, “Bring him forth! Bring him forth!” in the hope that Iko would actually produce the dog as a sacrifice. Iko laughed this off and left the stage to a cult-like crowd demanding blood and ceremony. Through the noise you could hear a deep, trembling cackle followed by another, “Drown the fucking crickets if you hear ‘em!”
With the crowd still at a fever pitch, a group of folk musicians took the stage, holding homemade instruments and dressed as though they were ready to buck bales. A washtub bass made a huge, thunder-like sound as the bassist dragged it across the stage. Every ear was terrorized. The singer played a cigar box guitar with a beer bottle for a slide, and a percussionist switched between a washboard and spoons to create a chore-based beat. They played the classic songs Jesus Don’t Want Me for a Sunbeam and The Devil Went Down to Georgia. The crowd loved the first tune, but the second left them with a sour taste. As the band finished playing, the audience was quiet – save for a group of friends mixed into the crowd. As they scuttled off the stage with another rumble of thunder from the washtub, an argument ensued about the song choice and how they knew this might not be the proper venue. In the quiet, another yell pierced the air, “Drown the fucking crickets if you hear ‘em!”
As the night went on, the café was filled with the joyous sounds of two funk bands, a magician with a cow for an assistant, and four comedians that seemed like they needed a therapist more than an audience. As each performer left the stage, the voice from the booth gave them a haughty, “Drown the fucking crickets if you hear ‘em!” The performers that heard them would quickly sink the bugs in their bellies with wine or something caffeinated. Every now and again, someone would decide to leave or go outside for a smoke and create a scene with the sound of the door as it flew open. Beebee hated this sound. A soul-wrenching glare met everyone that tried to leave.
As the café settled in and the crowd was adequately buzzed, Beebee took the stage to announce that the final performance was going to be a “once in a lifetime” event. She urged the crowd to get their drinks before it began as the setup would take some time. Most of the audience made their way to the bar and got themselves something extra-strong to finish out the night. Behind them, the stage began to transform. A group of small men in black skinsuits began assembling an altar covered in debaucherous imagery of wild sex acts. One scene depicted a group of satyrs worshiping a woman floating in the air, naked on her back and dripping with blood. The altar was then covered in unlit candles, and three boxes were placed at the front facing the audience.
Beebee served the final few audience members in line, then disappeared into the kitchen as the lights in the café began to dim. In the darkness the crowd murmured and sipped, waiting to see what magical events were going to take place on this wonderful stage. As the crowd inched from excitement to anxiety, the voice from the booth boomed into the darkness of the room, “Drown the fucking crickets if you hear ‘em!” At this, the candles on the altar exploded into light and the silhouette of Iko, wearing a long black cloak and an amulet of a pentagram made from sticks and moss tied together with twine.
“We are gathered here tonight for the most glorious of celebrations.” Their voice had developed an uncanny power and a cacophony of whispers from the air itself echoed their words, “Tonight we bring forth our means of justice! Our one true lord, the Great Deceiver who will lead us from the world’s dark corners to center stage in the theatre of revolution.” The word revolution bounced through the room like a coin down a well. The crowd began to wail in excitement. All except for Danny. He seemed confused and planned a move to the exit as soon as he got a chance.
Iko lifted their hands into the air and let out a high shriek as they convulsed. While they flew ragdoll-like across the stage, the audience entered a trance-like state, ebbing and flowing towards the stage with ever-more cohesion. “Let us begin!” Iko shouted before throwing their cloak to the ground and jumping naked to the top of the altar. Their body was covered in tattoos depicting scenes from the altar. Their nipples, navel, and cock were pierced with silver rings connected by a red chain which shimmered in the candlelight. They danced wildly on the altar as a deep beat from a metal drum pulsed slow and steady through the café.
At this point, Danny grew bewildered and made his way to the exit, only to find the folk band standing in front of the door. “But it’s just getting good!,” they said as Danny tried and failed to push past them. He panicked and made a bolt to the door, only to find it was stuck. Danny started to scream for help. His voice was drowned by the drums and the chanting.
After a few moments of dancing Iko picked up the box in the center of the table and opened it. Inside was a golden chain that Iko twirled above their head as they shouted out to the crowd in an unknown tongue. At this, the crowd became silent. Smoke rose from behind the bar and a faint red glow shone from the ground. Iko continued twirling the chain as they fell to their knees on the podium.
“She rises.”
Iko’s voice was a whisper, but it could be heard clearly in the dampened room. As the words were said, the body of a limp woman laid on her back began to float up into the air, her arms and legs dangling to the ground. The body was Beebee’s, seemingly anesthetized upon an invisible table. The body floated from behind the bar up to the stage over the hands of the crowd reaching up and trying to grab her. Some began to weep. Some stood with menacing grins. Danny trembled against the door and continued trying to get it to open while screaming for help.
“Drown the fucking crickets if you hear ‘em!”
Beebee’s floating body stopped in front of Iko standing on the altar. Iko grabbed the box to her left. The box was not much larger than her hand, but from it they drew an obsidian blade and began to rub its flat side against Beebee’s stomach. They chanted under their breath.
Danny gave one final shove at the door and it burst open, throwing himself headfirst into the concrete and knocking him unconscious. The crowd laughed, and from the darkness of the alley the men in the black skinsuits appeared and carried Danny back into the café. They placed him in the center of the altar and began to remove his clothes. He awoke to find himself bound to the altar with the golden chain and the body of Beebee floating just three feet above him. He felt the cold touch of stone across his stomach as Iko caressed him with the blade.
“Today we bring about the new world. Today we bring upon us our glorious child of darkness.” Iko lifted the blade into the air, “Today we feast.”
At that moment they swung down hard against the altar, cleaving Danny into two pieces right below his ribcage and spraying a wave of blood into the crowd. The crowd became a chorus of primal screams. As Iko began another chant, Danny’s blood began to flow upward into the air, engulfing Beebee in an orb of crimson. Iko opened the final box and pulled out a silver goblet. They took the goblet, filled it with Danny’s blood, took a sip, and stood in front of the altar, inviting the crowd to join in the communion. Inside the orb Beebee spun faster and faster until she was just a flash of light. As Danny bled out on the table, he saw in his final visions this blur transform into what appeared to be a fetus in the womb.
Weeping, Iko cried “It has arrived!”
They were echoed by a chorus of screams from the parishioners of this black mass. The screams turned to tears as the crowd became overwhelmed by what they saw. After the crowd had taken their sacrament, Iko turned around and grabbed the sword from the altar. They once again lifted it above their head, but this time cut into the orb, causing it to burst. From the wave of blood emerged a young child with deep red eyes. Danny lost his sight but could hear as the door opened and everyone poured out chanting, “The world is new!” led by Iko, carrying the child above them as a new messiah. As they left the café Danny felt the cold air from the alley on his cheeks and faded off into the darkness. From a booth across from the altar Danny could hear a soft cackle and from the darkness a great booming yell, “Drown the fucking crickets if you hear em!”
