Death Mosh

My head throbbed as I awoke to my phone buzzing on the bedside table. I look over to see that it’s Patrick; he probably didn’t even sleep. I left the gig before he did, and considering it’s eight O’clock in the morning, which is exceptionally early for him, it makes sense. I lean over and hit speaker phone while my head is half buried in my pillow:

“What?”

“Bro, you will never guess what just happened!”

“Well, I’m too tired to guess, so tell me.”

“You know about that band Abyssalist, yeah? That one that plays shows you have to be invited to!”

I sit in my bed and wipe my eyes, beginning to feel intrigued.

“Yeah, what about them?”

“I… GOT… TICKETS!”

My eyes opened wide as I processed what he just said. I asked him how he managed that, and he said he had been talking to a guy sitting in a booth at the back of the gig last night. Pat had already had a decent amount to drink but still felt the need to approach the guy out of curiosity. The man said he works for Abyssalist and goes show to show to see if any dedicated extreme metal fans want to participate in an unforgettable experience. If so, he asks them questions to prove they are up to the task and will receive an invitation if they prove worthy.

Pat immediately began to rattle off anything about us that would make us sound impressive to the stranger, and after a bit of back-and-forth, he was presented with an envelope holding tickets. A few moments after Pat and the man parted ways, he called me, and here we are.

A few hours later, Pat arrived at my house and passed out on the lounge. I got up and went about my day, trusting him to rest for tonight’s show.  My house was within a few moments’ walk from everything, including the music store I worked at. I decided to stop at my work and talk to some coworkers about the show to see if they knew anything because, despite being excited, I was curious about why it was so private. I get that it’s a theme and everything, but could it be more than that?

I approach two of my workmates on their lunch break and slide the concert into the conversation, mentioning that I got my hands on tickets. At first, they were pretty stoked about it and asked me to tell them all about it, but they soon started mentioning that they knew people who participated in the past, and each one seemed different after the show. One of them quickly jumped at the idea that maybe the show was just that good, and it changed you. Another thing that was crazy to them was how no one had ever seen video footage of them on any platform and how they could keep that up even with people out there who like to leak stuff. I agree that all of that is mysterious, and we won’t know until I experience it for myself. Yes, I will come back and tell you guys everything. I arrive at my house and walk inside. Pat is up and getting ready in the bathroom, and he hears me enter.

“Yo, Yo! You ready for tonight?”

I look down as Pat puts his knife on the back of his pants.

“I don’t know why you still bring that thing; I have never seen you need it.”

“Yeah, well, you never know how these things will go. I'd rather have it than not need it, you know?”

It makes me feel safer about these things. I go into my room and start getting ready, but I can’t shake the feeling that this seems strange. I like it, but I can’t be too cautious. I returned to the living room, where Pat reminded me that the show started at nine o’clock, and we needed to be in line half an hour before that so everyone could be inside before the show began. So, seeing it was close to that now, we started making our way down to the venue. Along the way, we run into a couple we met in town weeks ago who also happen to have tickets. The girl mentions that she has gone before, and it’s a first for her partner. You can tell how excited he was, but she seemed pretty docile considering the circumstances.

We get to the venue and see that they are doing ID checks on the way in, but I also notice that they have guards blocking off the street. Also, the security guards were wearing Abyssalist merch and masks, which were as cool as they looked, which concerned me a little bit. As we were getting closer in line, I also saw the door guys looking some people up and down, checking closer than any other venue I had been to. Pat, on the other hand, couldn’t be more pumped, jumping up and down and telling me how cool everything looked; he had been listening to these guys a lot more than I had so far, so I guess I could understand his excitement. On the other hand, Pat

We get to the door, show our ID, and enter. Our eyes are then met with a stage holding some of the most death metal gear and instruments we have ever seen, along with a large cage from the edge of the stage to the roof. I looked around the room at all the other fans, and you could tell it was some people's first time, seeing as they were jumping for joy, but the others seemed almost let down somehow as if they didn’t want to be there. I watch the last line shuffle in, and the doors closed behind them by the security, followed by them standing in front of them with their arms crossed. I started feeling uneasy at how different this was from what I expected but reserved judgment until I knew why.

The lights dimmed, and a low, ominous hum filled the air. The crowd roared as the band took the stage, clad in black leather and spikes, faces painted with grotesque designs. They picked up their gear and proceeded to get into position. The hum slowly heightened before being cut, and then, right on time, the band slammed into a gritty and heavy riff, blowing the roof off the building with the double base gliding at high speeds; people began to mosh and jump, losing their minds. As the song played out, I could feel the aggression gradually rising, different from the usual concert. The last few notes rang out, and the first piece of the setlist ended with a massive cheer from the crowd. Suddenly, the crowd split and opened up a larger space in the middle of the room. The crowd started glancing left and right while the vocalist stepped forward and lifted his mask to reveal his mouth and, with an intense voice, whispered into the microphone.

“The ground has been set.”

“No tears shall be wept.”

“If your life should be kept.”

“Bring me flesh…”

Pat and I look at each other, wondering if he is serious before we anxiously look at the crowd. Suddenly, the silence is cut by the sound of a knife ripping into someone's throat on the other side of the mosh pit, followed by the vivid sound of gurgling blood. We watch in shock as he slumps to the floor, holding his wound, crying out in sadness as not a single person steps forward to help him. Then, just over from us, we see the couple we were walking with, a big smile on her face as she rams a pocket knife into his neck and laughs savagely while she begins to cut off his head, listening to him make helpless noises trying to grab at her to stop. The crowd morphs into people who have been here before and those who are here for the first time.

The band starts the next song; slow motion kicks in while I'm in shock. The returning fa ns begin to descend on the newcomers with barbaric brutality while they bang at the doors and windows, screaming for help. While the music plays, I get a warm feeling in my muscles, and my mind almost beckons me to participate in the horror. I look over at Pat and see his eyes wide with joy as he pulls out his knife and breaks into a full sprint. He leaps onto one of the blood-soaked fans and rams his knife up under his chin; they both fall to the ground. Pat grabs the man's head and, with all his might, uses the knife and his other hand to rip the man's jawbone out and hold it up to the band in all their glory.

My gaze redirects to the rest of the room as I notice the numbers getting smaller and smaller. Young kids as old as 18 are on the ground crying as they get their heads stomped on over and over until they lose consciousness. Two men are holding each arm of an unlucky guy while a third rips at his skin, attempting to pull his head off as he groans helplessly. With three songs in at this point, the band stops and commands the room’s attention, causing everyone to stop and look at them. In the silence, you can hear all the broken people plead and cry in their despair, squirming and pools of blood. The lead singer holds his head up and begins to sniff the air.

“Hmmm, we are getting close. We have one song left. If enough flesh has not been provided, remember… You will all perish.”

The band slams back into another double kick beat down. The crowd looks more terrified and begins to go even harder. I get knocked to the ground and watch a man clamber up on top of me, about to strike me in the head with a smashed beer glass. He swings it down, and I dodge my head to the right, hearing it rattle the ground next to my ear. In a rage of music-induced berserker rage, I swiftly reach up and grab his neck before ripping his throat out back towards the ground. His blood spills over my face, and a sense of power and Euphoria come over me, causing me to seek my next kill. I look over and see Pat repeatedly stabbing a dead guy on the ground, throwing handfuls of flesh at the stage floor. To my right, two people are biting chunks of arm and torso off a wailing girl.

The band finishes their last song in an epic symphony and looks across the room at the remaining eleven of us. Each one is panting furiously as the urge subsides, our muscles begin to ache, sorrow washes over us, and we feel the adrenaline leave our veins. Mentally broken, some begin to cry, and others remain in shock. The band looks at us and then glances around the room.

“It seems the void is satisfied with your efforts… It awaits your return…”

As the band's crew starts to pack up, some of the survivors scream at them, threatening to call the police and cuss out the band with a burning hatred. I pick Pat up, and we exit the venue, limping in pain.

“Call the police! This is insane! I can't believe what we just did! How does no one know about this?!”

Pat continued to rant while I called the police—the other end of the phone answered.

“Hello 000, What’s your emergency? … Hello?”

Something swirls in my brain like being on cocaine. Pat stopped talking and looked at me as if to tell me to put the phone down. I hang up …

“Did you hear when the next show was…?”