A metalheads last stand....

Authors note: Hi everyone, I'll be putting part two of 'The Journey' up tomorrow, but in the meantime I'm posting the tale below in response to a request from an old Black Sabbath fan.
What! You don't know who they are!!? Go look them up, listen to a few of their tracks, then come back and read the story.....

Image above courtesy of drinkingblackcoffee.com

Nights like this were getting depressingly typical, John Michael reflected.

Absentmindedly he dropped his shoulder, charged a snarling vampire in the midsection and bowled it over.

More of them came slithering out of the shadows.

Claws slashed out at him. He reached into the pocket of his leathers, wrapped his hand around his crucifix inscribed knuckle duster, and swung hard at the first monster to reach him.

A spray of vampire mace (holy water and garlic) bought him a few more seconds of life, and a few more steps towards his goal.

But the creatures closed around him.

They pulled him, struggling, to the floor of the ancient stone temple.

As they swarmed over him his consciousness began to fade, and bad memories rose into his mind unbidden.... biting down on the squealing ‘rubber bat’ at that damned gig..... the roadies, showing him what they’d found under the stage afterwards: The pentagram painted (in bat blood, of course) onto the underside of the boards right beneath where he’d stood...... then the strangeness begining...... the figures in shadows.... the unhinged ‘fans’ who didn’t show up on CCTV.....hearing about the vampire cult of Amilh’zar. The cult, it turned out, his new manager was a part of. The cult had wanted him to become a true Prince of Darkness.

Not bad for a mosher from birmingham. But when he’d said no….. they’d been unhappy…..

Tonight he had one last chance to set it right: Even as razor sharp teeth sank into him he saw the black urn atop the altar. With one last burst of strength he somehow cleared the six-shooter from its shoulder holster.

Just one clean shot, he prayed. Teeth sank into his arteries. Keep fighting, his flagging mind told his muscles.....

The gun went off, but he couldn’t see if it had smashed the urn – too many bloody vampires around him. And as darkness came down on him, like velvet, one last thought flashed briefly by: In future, never hire a manager just because they bought a round in the pub.....

END ?