The first thing I take note of upon wakening is the stench. Then I vomit. The mix of natural gas, formaldehyde, and rotting meat could turn the stomach of Chuck Norris. With my vision still blurry, all I can make out are some dark shapes against an even darker background. Somewhere in this midnight blue labyrinth, a faucet leaks. The slow drip, drip of the water echoing in the emptiness. The wind makes the walls creak and the windows rattle.

     The crazy bastard must have me stashed at his dead parents house. What a sick fuck. Now I’m in the middle of abso-fucking-lutely nowhere with no means of getting back to civilization. The last time I was this far out in the country at Jacob’s parents’ cellar it was the 70’s. His parents had invited us over for this clam bake thing. I remember the first time I walked in, I was greeted by a mash-up of Pink Floyd and a bong-rip. His two hippie, flower-power parents were on the couch. His dad seemed like a skinnier, nerdier Tommy Chong. His mom was the every day, run of the mill, Southern California blonde flower child.

     The circumstances this time around couldn’t be any more different. Becoming more alert, I notice my arms are tied down to the arms of the chair I’m in. The walls are cement gray to match the floor. The largest structure I can make out so far is a stage at the end of the room. The stage is set about 3 feet from the floor and underneath is just a criss-cross of support beams. The chairs around me are organized into an arrangement of rows and columns. Most of them empty but a few held strangely shaped objects. There’s a water heater in another corner of the cellar. The few ceiling lights there are, have gone out long ago. At least an inch of dust covers almost everything.

     As the shapes surrounding me become clearer, I start to realize how little I knew Jacob. The horror of the scene taking shape in front of me is enough to make me throw up again. The next few details that flood my mind are of Jacob’s parents sitting in the audience. Their hair flat, their skin gray and moldy. Jacob’s father’s hair long and stringy. Streaks of gray run through his brown hair. His khaki pants and brown vest are layered with mildew. Jacob’s mother’s hair is standing up straight, making it look more like fire than it did before. Her once white sundress has yellowed and grayed with age. Lastly I notice that in the back row, an old, sinewy skeleton sits upright like a horrifying Halloween decoration made real.