They walk to the site of Tolo’s dead relatives, and the record begins to play on its own in his arms. An ominous aura surrounds the two men, as mists form about their feet, and the sky darkens. Decaying hands tear up through the ground, driven by the sound of the recording. Vincenzo is quick to realize something amiss, while Tolo stands there, record player in hand.
“What the fuck, we gotta fuckin’ get the fuck outta here.”
Tolo has no response. Vincenzo grabs him by the shirt, and runs, almost dragging him back to the truck. Once inside, they drive fast down the winding path of the cemetery, the dead rising from the grave, superseding the ground behind it.
“Ya gotta shut off that fuckin’ record player, I knew that thing gave me da creeps. Ah fuck.”
“It can’t be shut off, Vinny.” With those final words, the truck swerves to a crossroads in front of a large stone embedding in the ground, and Tolo takes hold of the wheel, making it stay on course with the slanted sepulchre.
“What the fuck, Tolo?” Tolo offers no response.
Vincenzo jumps out of the truck, as it crashes through the stone floor, and falls three stories into a cave within a giant cavern, dug by demons. Surrounding this one larger hole are thousands of smaller caves, spiralling downwards into blackness. Smashed into the skull of the now dead Tolo, the record continues to play its black symphony in the van upon the edge of the precipice, facing the death dark of the central pit.
A few short miles away, in the second level of an underground parking lot, a group of teens are hanging around the back of a van. The original Misfits play loudly to the reverie of their young ears. Jamar, the youngest is the most enthusiastic in himself, from his hair to his denim vest to his expressions. Dinah, the beautiful and vivacious young blonde, hopelessly attached to the arm of Ryan, a confident young man, who shows his self-assurance in his buff physique, not that his strongly worded chin needed it.
A figure slowly shuffles towards them.
“Aw, not the fuckin’ security.”
“Relax, it’s probably just Beryl, I think he’s workin’ security tonight.”
“I don’t know, you two, the way he’s walking… it’s scaring me.”
“Hey! Beryl! You okay?” No answer.
“Pfft, fuck this guy, then,” Ryan says, shooting his can of beer at the shambling figure. It connects, bouncing off and rolling onto the ground, spilling the shaken contents. The figure shows no signs of reaction, and continues, stepping into light. The teens can now see the animated rotting corpse clearly, mindlessly heading towards its senses of their flesh. Behind it, they now see and crowd of similarly rotting bodies. Their moans stem perhaps from pain, perhaps from the movement of their decayed animation, acting as a sort of bagpipe. It’s hauntingly human, yet altogether monstrous.
