“They call themselves 'Goat Funeral,'” Olivia says, clearly amused. “And yes, they’re exactly as terrible as they sound.”
As if summoned by mockery, the two youths burst out of the garage in matching T-shirts featuring skulls and flames.
“OLIVIAAAAAA!” Burnout yells, throwing devil horns in the air.
“You brought your WWE boyfriend!” Booger adds, grinning. “Yo, do you suplex in real life?”
Kursk crosses his arms. “I crush the bones of my enemies beneath me. Is this what you mean?”
Theyhigh five each other.
“Dude, that is SO metal.”
Olivia shakes her head. “Guys, he’s notreallya wrestler. He’s?—”
“A musician,” I offer, deadpan. “In… ‘Gwar.’”
Their jaws drop.
“You’rein Gwar?!” Booger shouts.
I nod solemnly. “It is a sacred name where I come from.”
Olivia winces. I think she kicks me under the table. I pretend not to notice.
Burnout rushes to the amp and flips it to maximum overdrive. “Dude, you HAVE to hear this riff we wrote. It’s called ‘Chainsaw Baptism.’”
The wall of sound that follows nearly tears my ears off.
I start to cover them—then freeze.
Outside, past the hedge, past the driveway—I feel it.
Apresence.
A rot-laced stench of undeath and old blood.
It’s HERE.
It followed us.
I rise slowly, every muscle tensed. The world narrows to a pinpoint. I unsling the spear, activating its illusion just long enough to reveal it to my hand.
“Olivia,” I whisper.
“What?”
“Get them inside.”
Her face shifts from confusion to horror in an instant.
Then Irun.
I burst through the backyard gate and into the alley just in time to see it skitter back into shadow.
But it was there.
Gods, it was there.
