The room filled with bottled fog. A trick from the DJ to lure people with no natural rhythm onto an empty dance floor. Clusters sat at tables around the edge. The fog and fast beats weren’t for them.
DJ Donnie glanced at the room. Squinting through artificial fog. Too small for a club night. One of a kind mainstream advertised event. Cracks formed in the plaster and travelled to the ceiling at the opposite end of the room.
A warehouse and a booth. Raised above the crowds. Small protection from VIPs. More than the table and small speakers offered. Dive bar, not the sort of place to attract exclusive guests dressed to the nines for a drunken one-night stand.
He needed the money. A ring. A special gift. Bought with pennies hidden from the Inland Revenue. For chubby fingers. He knew without ever touching them. Without ever seeing them. And linking hands.
Ghost woman stood out in the fog. Lifted his hand to touch her soft hair. The fog swirled into other shapes. Lingering scent of sweet honey graced his nostrils before fading away, plucking at the hairs and bringing a tear to his eyes. 56 seconds real-time self-pleasure, gone in a splash to linger forever.
He accepted cash-in-hand, unlimited drinks all night. Old cheap lino gave him a dance floor. Make the best of a bad situation, how the mighty fall. Distracted by an aching heart and 56 seconds.
Old plaster fell from the ceiling like snow. Chunks too large for his friends. Bash them on the head and leave behind a trail of bodies for no one to find. Except her. Woman to chase them away.
DJ Donnie turned the dials, watching the plaster until it reached the perfect consistency. The snow didn’t block the people sitting at the back of the room.
No one stood outside charging admission. No one stood outside with a mirror either, saying “do you think you should come in?”. Fog and strobe light. Block the people putting in no effort.
DJ Donnie’s parties held notorious difficulty to get into. Acceptance, a universal craving. Donnie could afford to only allow the elite in. All to impress a pretty girl, one not for impressing, no matter how hard he tried. She’d be here tonight. One of the elite. Only she didn’t view herself that way. Jowls sagging, well past his prime, elitism a thing to look back on as the dark clouds rolled in.
Every time someone walked down the stairs, he turned to look through the bottled fog. He hoped to see her face through the fog. Blocked. Deleted after 56 seconds of self-pleasure for her approval.
More people with luminescent straps hanging off their clothing and goggles perched on top of their heads dipped in something active under a black light. At least one of them, or maybe even all, would lack the social skills needed to impress someone with a delightful appearance.
No more tables left, they sat in the seats lining the sides of the dance floor with their feet spread out in front of them, drinks in hand. Boots on his dusty lino, sticking out of the fog.
Little foot prints danced in and out of the strobe lights. The party below appreciated the snow of plaster. The music. The fog. The lights. Friends before 56 seconds demonstrating his lack of social skills drove him to ruin and saggy cheeks no filter could hide.
She might be among them. Unfiltered. As always. Forever young. She might come down the stairs. He pressed the button for more fog. He didn’t want to see anyone. Not unless it was her. A virus in the system inside his head.
The lights turned the fog colours from the rainbow in time with the music. He thought he had her tastes correct this time. Projections worked in unusual ways.
He held her picture in his head, glimpsed from a handful of photos sent to him. He deleted them long ago in a fit of rage. The one he saved, tracked down, printed off and wrapped in a Sello tape laminate rested in his pocket.
She came to visit in his sleep. He would wake up with her name on his lips, only to be forgotten a few seconds after he opened his eyes. A story to go with her when he knew nothing about her. A character created out of the fog.
Her curves ducked in and out of the bottled mist. Her chill travelled through him with a scent of honey fighting the frost. All the bees’ dead, buried below a pile of flies. Also, dead. Swirled around her in a cyclone, it paid no mind to the exaggerations created by her underskirt and girdle.
DJ Donnie reached his hand to touch her. A cool glass landed in it. The fingerprints showed up in purple as the lights changed.
“Thank you,” he mumbled.
Someone poured the tonic in. Lime floated to the top, past the dissolving ice. He preferred cucumber. He took a sip.
She was gone. Fog filled in the blanks where she danced. 56 seconds. He didn’t need to time it. He knew. The honey lingered a moment longer, dispersing in chemical antiseptic spray no joss sticks could disguise.
Ice hit his teeth as he added more fog. The people below built snowmen out of the plaster. Dustman. A constant party followed inside his head.
Small hands shoved tiny glow sticks between the dustman’s legs. DJ Donnie snorted immaturity. But what did it matter? She was here, then, she was gone. He took another sip and glanced away from the world below his feet.
The people at the tables sat and stared. Vacant. They could have been dead, or mechanical men from the Martian desert. No sign of the enjoyment of those below.
DJ Donnie went back to his equipment, trying to wipe her from his mind. She was gone, deleted in a fit of rage, he needed to move on. Move away. Run away.
No matter where he travelled, and his party followed, she was there inside his head, drawing back the curtains and layers on his mind. Carving her picture with a knife, she forgot to sign it with her name.
Suitably labelled “The Queen of Filth”, extremist author DaniBrown’s style of dark and twisted writing and deeply disturbing stories has amassed a worrying sized cult following featuring horrifying tales such as “Ghetto Super Skank”, “56 Seconds”, “Name Dropping With Hayden” and the hugely popular “Ketamine Addicted Pandas”. Merging eroticism with horror, torture and other areas that most authors wouldn’t dare, each of Dani’s titles will crawl under your skin, burrow inside you, and make you question why you are coming back for more.
Find her online https://linktr.ee/DaniBrownQueenofFilth
