The Demon’s Dance Floor
ISSUE #175
I’ll meet you at the wrought iron gate—get there as close to sundown as you can because it only opens once a year. Wait for the moon to crest the roof, then dip down through the hedges to the yard. Creep past the Persian lilies and onto the back porch—go through the hole in the screen door, remember, or it won’t count and you’ll just be in Ms. Crawford’s peeling old house. Through the hole, and you’ll see the red light beneath the kitchen sink. Open the cabinet and crawl in. Down the stairs, thirteen flights, then take the knife to your left palm and open the hatch. You’ve made it to the dance floor.
Go—I’ll be right behind you.
Start digging around in Halloween music and before long you’ll turn a weird corner: there’s a lot of surf guitar. That strange kitsch has fueled everything from Friday the 13th to Rocky Horror. This band, Messer Chups, has distilled it to its purest form.