The Audition - A Tale of Terror Part 3
Posted: Tuesday, April 21, 2009
by Ryan Stroud
Jim approached the door to the mysterious house. He looked around for a moment, trying to see through the small windows next to the doorframe. He could see a light on inside and shadows of people in the back living room. He stood straight up, took a deep breath, and rang the doorbell. Jim waited. Nothing. He rang the bell again, and again, nothing. He looked back down to the small windows next to the doorframe. They looked different now. Jim peered a little closer. It looked like small, beady little eyes were now in the window. Someone was watching him. Jim leaned even closer and, BAM! Something hit the door like a ton of bricks. It sent Jim flying back onto his backside, dropping his guitar. The door flew open.
"I'm, um, I'm here for an audition. My name's Jim."
"Yeah, right. Sorry about that, man. We just get a little jumpy out here sometimes. Nothing personal, right?" said the man sympathetically.
"No, nothing personal," answered Jim while trying to stand up and grab his guitar. As he reached down to pick it up, he saw what looked like eyes still staring at him through the window. Jim looked up at the man. He just stood there in the door, one hand on each doorframe like a guard and smiling an evil, yet also ensuring smile. They stood there in silence.
"Um, you must be Murphy, right?" Jim asked. He looked back down at the window and the beady eyes were gone.
"Yeah, I'm Murphy. You can call me Murph or Murphy, whichever you like best. I'll answer to both." Murphy held out his right hand, gesturing for Jim to take it. Jim did and the two embraced in what Jim felt was the coldest handshake in the history of handshakes.
"So, where do we do this?" Jim asked with a nervously shaking voice. Murphy just stood there for a moment, scanning Jim all over, checking him out.
"Oh, right. Come in, come in," Murphy said, moving one hand off the doorframe and pushing the back of his body against the door, making a path for Jim to cross. Jim thanked him and entered the house.
The interior of the house surprised Jim. It was clean and very nice looking, unlike the malevolent exterior. Framed photos of different people and places hung on the wall. Things varying from a couple embracing under the Eifel Tower to a couple sitting on a ledge, overlooking a lit city below. This caught Jim by surprise. Grave Peril had a mix of wild members and this home was nothing to the liking of wild. It was very modern, very artsy, Jim thought.
The two walked down a hall and into a giant living room where another member of Grave Peril laid across a giant "L" shaped couch. The member stood up as to greet the two men.
"Is this the guy?" asked the other member of the band.
"Harry McCoy, this is Jim. Jim, this is Harry McCoy, our lead singer. You can just call him McCoy. Harry sounds too much like a magician's or wizard's name," said Murphy. Jim recognized McCoy once he had stood up from the couch. He had been to enough Grave Peril show to know all the members of the band, past and present. Jim stood there for a moment, looking at the man he had seen so many times in concert, the same man he tried to emulate while practicing in his own apartment. Jim put out his hand for McCoy to take.
"It's really great to meet you," the nervous Jim said.
Murphy put his arm around Jims shoulder. "McCoy, you remember Jim, right? We saw him play at the Cotton Club a few months back. He was in Storm Front at the time with that other guy who sent in a demo."
"Corgan Butcher," Jim interjected.
"Yeah, Corgan Butcher," Murphy said. "You remember them, right?"
"Yeah, I remember them," McCoy said looking at Murphy. He had a look in his eye that matched both a scared dog and an angry hurricane. "Look, I don't want to be here when this goes down."
"Why not? You're the lead singer, aren't you?" asked Jim, putting his hand down. It seemed McCoy had no interest in shaking Jim's hand.
"Yeah, I'm the lead singer. I just don't want to be here for it, that's all." McCoy shot another look at Murphy. "You understand, don't cha, Murph?"
"Whatever, man," Murphy said with a frown. The look on his face had a trace of hate on it. Murphy saw Jim was watching him and quickly changed his demeanor. He smiled at Jim, still holding his shoulder like the two were great friends. "Hey, I think I got it from here. McCoy, why don't you go into the back room and grab your guitar? You can let yourself out, right?"
"Sure," said McCoy, never taking his eyes off of Murphy. "Have a good night, Murph. And good luck to you, you'll need it." McCoy exited the living room, walking down a dark hallway towards other rooms.
"What's his deal," Jim asked.
"Hey, don't worry about him; he just thinks I'm slowly trying to get rid of him. How about we go get you warmed up, cool?" Murphy said, taking his arm from around Jim's shoulders. Jim felt a small tingle in his body as Murphy's touch left him.
"That sounds cool," Jim said.
To be continued...
Ryan Stroud is a military trained journalist who has served in Iraq with the 3rd Brigade Combat Team, 1st Cavalry Division, US Army. Prior to his military experiences, Stroud grew up playing, coaching, and refereeing soccer. Also, Stroud focused many years of his life playing, touring, and recording/producing local music acts. He has a wonderful wife of 4 years, a 2 year old son and a newborn daughter.
Stroud's biggest writing influences are Jim Butcher, Chuck Palahniuk, Edward Lee, Jack Ketchum, Christopher Moore and Ben Fox.
He currently resides in Huntsville, Al, with the 59th Ordnance Brigade at Redstone Arsenal.
Stroud would also like to take a moment to thank his friends who are currently in battle over in Iraq. God bless all of you.
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