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moment of silence which is broken by Dan’s screams. His shrieking continues for a moment, followed by another thud that, if there had been tenants in the nearby buildings, would have been heard and reported long before Dan fails to attend a marketing meeting downtown the following morning.

Chapter Six
    Michael and the band perform underneath the hot lights on a small stage. The night club isn’t the type of place where people come to mingle, it is a straight up punk bar and the only purpose for walking through the doors is to listen to music and get filthy, stinking drunk. Tonight, though, the bar area is sparse—Corpus Delicti is playing and that means the pit area in front of the stage is filled to capacity. A large audience, for this club, staggers around the makeshift dance floor. People slam into one another as the band rocks on.
    This is a paid gig so the band is in full regalia. The horror punk scene is one that takes their metaphorically-costumed bands seriously and Corpus Delicti is no exception. Ricky, in full zombie make-up complete with ejaculating pus balls and latex “exposed bone” jaws takes stage right on the guitar. Mona appeals to the classic monster fan. Her costume resembles Elsa Lanchester’s turn as the monster’s lady friend in Bride of Frankenstein if Lady Gaga had designed the film’s wardrobe. Sexy and scary, she drips sultry as she lays down the deep rhythms with her bass guitar on stage left. Not to be out no-classed, Skeezer wears a Speedo with suspenders as he bangs away on the drums. Naturally a furry type of guy, complete with chest and back hair inherited from his East European ancestors, he wears a detailed Wolf Man mask which at least fifty-three young women would attest to is a highly accurate representation of his personality.
    Finally, Michael takes center stage. He handles the rhythm guitar and vocals for the band. His costume is what could only be described as a Goth-Victorian-mortician, reiterating the idea that he is the leader of Corpus Delicti and is “producing the corpse” as it were. The suit is tight and would look equally as dapper on Peter Cushing or Christopher Lee in their heyday. The suit itself comes complete with blood red ascot and bowler hat. Michael’s face paint changes from show to show. He literally wears his emotions on his face and, quite unconsciously, the make-up hints at classic clownish clichés. At some level Michael realizes what he is doing but can’t escape it. He wants to project fear to the audience and what would be better than his own greatest fear? Just a little tidbit, of course, but enough. Most of the audience will never get the connection and think these guys just looked cool. That small percentage that did make the connection, though…they got it, and that’s who the band played for.
    The song is a local favorite, “Miss Number Five”, an ode to Jack the Ripper’s final victim and the slam-dancing moshers in the crowd throw themselves at each other as the song builds to its final crescendo.
    Michael screams. “Miss Number Six, you’re the one I pick!”
    Cymbals crash, guitars growl and then…silence. The crowd nearly explodes as it cheers. Breathing heavily, Michael leans into his microphone.
    â€œThank you! We’ll be back after a bit, get some booze and tip Connie out you bastards! And don’t forget, we’ll be competing Halloween Night at Monster Fest and need you assholes to come support us!”
    The crowd disperses, moving en masse to the bar area to refill and reload. Connie, the establishment’s lone server, approaches the stage as Michael and crew disentangle themselves from instruments, cables, mics, cords and such. Decked out in tattoos, lip ring and exposed midriff it is evident that Connie is a fan too. The house music blares and Connie has to wave her hands to get Michael’s attention. He finally notices, unplugs the guitar