Bruno dressed quickly and loaded his tools into the van. The Krakken was waiting there for him. It would not be good if O’Taylor or Sticks should discover their early morning foray. They would not understand. Sticks could be an asset, but there was no telling which Sticks might appear; the man or the puppet of the Elder Gods! Bruno started the van and turned the heater on full. Suddenly, the passenger door opened and Sticks climbed in.
“What the hell are you doing? Bruno asked, “it is only small errand we must run.”
Sticks turned to Bruno, a strange light showing in his eyes. “I know. There’s something I need to get to.” Bruno smiled as he put the van in gear and backed out into the street. He knew now which Sticks had decided to come. The helpful one!
They drove through the darkness of early morning. Bruno had chosen the back roads and they had not seen another vehicle in some time. As they crested a hill, emergency flashers could be seen in the distance.
“Look,” Bruno said, laughing, “a stranded motorist. How unfortunate. We should be stopping to help.”
Sticks wiped fog from the windshield. “Yeah, looks like we should,” he said grinning, “one should never pass up a good thing.”
“I’m hungry,” The Krakken said as he leaned forward.

The van fishtailed slightly as Bruno pulled back onto the road. They left the now-unoccupied car behind them. The former owners were lying in the back of the van, chained securely. They were another band, as fate would have it. Bruno was pleased; it would mean more props and one less rival band to be stealing the limelight.

“Moore,” Bruno thought, “what a strange name for a band. Ah, well no longer a worry.”
“Bruno,” Sticks said, “we’re gonna lose dark if we take these guys back home. What are we gonna do with ’em?”
The Krakken’s stomach growled. “Let’s eat ’em.”
Bruno spared Krakken a glance. “No! We will take to graveyard and bury for later. You should have been for eating before we left.”
The Krakken flopped back into his seat moodily. “Ya’ know,” he said, “You guys just don’t know how to have fun. What if we just eat one of them, huh? Then we would still have props and I won’t have to starve.”
Sticks turned around. “You know, Krakken,” he said, “all you ever think about is your stomach.”
“Yeah, so?” The Krakken shot back. Bruno pounded his fist on the dashboard.

“Silence!” he screamed. “You act like children!”
The van’s tires crunched loudly in the darkness as they pulled into the graveyard. Bruno felt he needed more props for tonight’s gig and this was the place to get them. He shut off the van and climbed out. Bruno opened the side door and passed a shovel to The Krakken.
“Here take shovel. I will bring mattock,” Bruno said as he hefted the tool. Sticks climbed out and straightened his leather jacket. The spikes and chains seemed to glow in the darkness. He dragged the members of Moore out of the van by their chains. The door squeaked loudly as Bruno closed it. Sticks looked into the blackness. A low ground fog covered the earth; a full moon cast an eerie pall over the night.
“This way,” he said and set off into the darkness.
Bruno shrugged his shoulders and followed. “Perhaps,” he thought, “they would find more than he had planned.” This should be a perfect place for the disposal of Moore and the finding of props. It just doesn’t get any better then this.
The gate of the graveyard loomed out of the darkness. Fog swirled about it as they approached. Suddenly, a man arose before them. He wore the attire of a priest and brandished a large crucifix.
“What evil deeds haste thou come to perform this morning? Be gone foul beings of darkness! I, Father Cire Bentley, command it. Let the dead rest in peace. Be gone, I say.”
Sticks looked around. The man was alone. Bruno laughed. “Are you close to your god, priest?”
Father Bentley raised his crucifix higher. “The Heavenly Father guides my hand and is my savior!” he shouted, “Now be gone!”
Sticks looked at Bruno. “I think he’s serious,” he said.
The Krakken licked his lips. “Can we eat him? After all, not only are priests good, but they are good for you.”
Father Bentley stepped forward and brandished the crucifix boldly. “Are you the unholy minions of that foulness known as Maris the Great? That hater of life and eater of carrion! That bane of all that God-fearing men hold dear.”
Bruno hefted his mattock. “I have heard of this Maris the Great,” he said, “and when find him I shall, I will chop him up and use his undying body as excellent prop.”
“Severed limbs flopping around on stage, how metal is that?” The Krakken exclaimed. As he drew a long-bladed knife, Sticks moved towards the priest.

“The Lord is my shepherd,” Father Bentley intoned, “I shall not want”

Sticks struck as Bruno forced the members of Moore to the ground. The Krakken leapt forward with teeth bared, keeping the priest frozen in fear as Sticks finished his incision. Father Bentley’s crucifix did not waver even as his throat was sliced open. “Come, we still have much to do,” Bruno said as he set out into the graveyard. Sticks and The Krakken followed, leaving the dead body of the priest on the cold, cemetery ground and the hapless members of Moore securely chained up and alone in the darkness.
They had been walking for a few minutes when a large mausoleum loomed out of the blackness. Sticks stopped and pointed. “Here, this is where we must look,” he said.
“Nice,” the Krakken interjected. Bruno went to the door expecting it to be locked tight. To his surprise, however, it was opened: The lock hung there, broken. He turned on his flashlight for a closer look. The red beam showed that the lock had been damaged not long ago. The frost hadn’t even had a chance to cover it again.
“Lock is broken, someone inside,” Bruno said hefting the mattock. “Perhaps great luck we will have.”
The Krakken laughed, “Hey, two-fers at the graveyard.” They quietly opened the door and went in. Bruno’s eyes scanned the darkness for the intruder as they made their way inside.
“Listen,” Sticks said quietly as he motioned for Bruno to stop. They heard a strange guttural grunting not far ahead of them. It continued rhythmically and grew in intensity as they moved closer. Now they could make out words.
“Fine, oh yes, oh yes, fine. So cold, so fresh.”

Bruno snapped on his flashlight. In its beam was caught a foul being. Its coarse hair was cut in a Mohawk. It wore a filthy suit and straddled the corpse of a small child that was spread out atop of a crypt. It disentangled itself from its depraved act. Hissing, it turned its hateful gaze upon them. Bruno glared back. Placing the flashlight on the floor, he readied the mattock. Its horizontal and vertical blades gleamed in the red light.
“Look, Sticks, props.” he said laughing. The being roused itself, and stood to its full height. It clawed the air; its appalling fingers ended in yellowed claws.
“What are they?” it asked, “Who are they that they stink of life, and yet have the sweet scent of death about them?”
“I am last person you will ever see,” Bruno said as he took a step forward.
Sticks held up his hand. “We are disciples of The Elder Gods. We bring the gift of life eternal under which even death shall die and Cthulhu rise.”
“Yeah,” The Krakken said, “and I’m gettin’ hungry.”

The being spat a foul greenish glob to the floor. “What care I of life? It is I, Maris the Great! Despoiler of the living, on their flesh I feast.”
Bruno’s face became hard in anger. “We are Malignari, best theatrical horror metal band of Colorado.”
“You boast!” Maris hissed, “but what does Malignari mean?”
“Evil,” Sticks stated, “nothing more.” Bruno stepped closer to Maris.
The Zombie stepped back behind the crypt on which the despoiled corpse of the child lay. “ I have heard that word of old. That ancient evil.” Maris growled, cocking his head, “Props, what are they?”
Bruno lunged forward and swung the mattock. Maris leaped back with an agility that belied his appearance. The blade struck into the crypt and separated the head from the corpse.
“They are the unworthy ones who shall serve us even in their deaths,” Sticks said. Bruno pulled the mattock from the crypt with a heave of his mighty shoulders.
“The large one speaks strangely,” Maris hissed, “where does it come from?”

Bruno glared, “Mother Russia. You pig!” Bruno screamed his face red with rage.
Maris smiled, his sharpened-yellowed teeth gleamed in the red light of the flashlight. “It is so big,” he hissed, “so strong. Filled with such a vital lust. Does it mate with those it kills?”
“No!” Bruno yelled as he leaped the distance between them and swung the mattock in a flashing arc. Maris jumped backwards, the blade slicing through the front of his jacket and narrowly missing his putrid flesh.
Sticks laughed. “I’ve heard some pretty weird shit in the middle of the night, but I don’t think Bruno has sex. He just helps people ‘go missing’.”
“Not missing! In crawlspace, freezer or on stove,” Bruno finished, readying the weapon for another attack.
The Krakken scowled, “Jeez. Some words you just don’t put together in the same sentence. Thinking about Bruno having sex is like thinking of my folks doin’ it. It’s just wrong.”

Maris clawed the air in front of him. “If you want to have sex with me and kill me, that’s fine, but I’m already dead,” Maris purred.

Bruno’s eyes flashed. “Does Zombie wish to see Bruno’s crawlspace? We could have much fun for very long time! Into you I could stick many and varied sharp, rusty, and smoldering objects. Heh heh. Flaming Zombie… undead flambé. Cut you, I will, to small pieces, filth!” He said, and took yet another step closer.
Sticks began to move around to the right of Bruno to cut off the escape of the thing they had encountered. “I wouldn’t go there if I were you,” Sticks said.
The Krakken frowned, “Didn’t we just talk about this?”
Bruno laughed, “Come! Come, it is nice place, new addition. Screams not heard from road.” Maris hissed and moved further back.
“Are you a gay leather man?” he hissed, inquisitively, and turned to Sticks, “or are you just into leather?” He cackled.
Sticks smiled, “I am not a thing like you. No. I like leather; the flesh of dead animals suits me.” Sticks said as he took a length of chain from his jacket and wrapped it around his fist.
“Blood does not show on black leather, no?” Bruno asked, laughing.
“Hey, why do people associate leather with being gay?” The Krakken stepped closer to Maris. “I mean, yeah, Rob Halford, Rudy Sarzo, maybe Bif Biford; but not all guys who wear leather are gay.”
“Krakken, don’t help me, ok?” Sticks said.

Maris spat, and wiped his mouth with a filthy hand. “Well you haven’t been to a gay leather bar, obviously. All I say is Sticks would be very popular in one. As a matter of fact, I kinda wish you would give me a spanking, Sticks. I’ve been a very bad zombie.”
Sticks stepped forward and swung a length of chain at Maris. Maris leaped back and sparks flew as the chain skipped off a tombstone.
Maris turned to leer evilly at Bruno. “Why do you wear that black leather hood?” he asked.
“Two words,” Sticks interrupted, “Identifying marks. Besides that, he’s ugly as hell.”
“Fuck you!” Bruno spat. “Is good hood, no?”
“Oh yeah,” Sticks replied, “That’s a real improvement.”
“Ugly,” the Krakken laughed, “doesn’t even begin to describe it. More like ‘fugly’.. heh,heh.”
Maris smiled and rubbed his hands together. “Does he have a large bulge?” he asked, licking his lips.
Sticks smiled. “I don’t know. I don’t look at men’s bulges.”
Bruno glared, “Sticks look at Bruno’s bulge, Sticks ‘go missing’!”
Krakken’s eyes glinted, “Long coat; maybe nothing’s there.”

Maris’s eyes narrowed. “They are vain” he thought, “that shall be their undoing. You look like a Nu-metal band, yet are not. Why? Your metal sounds like it is from another era. What influences you?” Maris asked.
Sticks paused. “We are not Nu, Black or Death. We are True Metal forged in the 80’s, progressed through the 90’s and unleashed in the 21st century!” he stated.
“Yes,” Bruno said, his voice growing excited. “We like to play much more than ‘chugga, chugga, chugga, huuuuuuuuaaaarrrrrgggghhhhh!’” he screamed. “Music must have melody. Tell story. The Krakken sings, not shouting bad poetry!”
Sticks laughed, “If I wanted someone to scream at me I’d have gotten married. Besides, Bruno wouldn’t get to play any long guitar solos if we were not Malignari.”
“Solos good,” Bruno shouted, “we are Horror Metal, is good!”
“Our music is a little progressive,” Sticks said. “It’s original. It doesn’t sound like all of the cookie cutter shit that’s out there, now. What Nu-metal band looks like us? It’s hard to go wrong with black leather, studs, spikes, and chains. Seattle had the flannel shirts. The Denver scene has black concert shirts and jeans. Most of the local bands look alike. We try to add a little extra, you know? Give folks something to watch, as well as hear.”
Bruno smiled at Maris; “We need volunteer for brain removal on stage. Hard to find. Harder to keep, skull not good for prop after.”
“Hey you can never have to many skulls,” Sticks added.
The Krakken yawned… “Who cares about Nu vs.Old, why does everything have to be labeled? We don’t have to explain ourselves to any one. Not even weird guys like this.”
Maris glared at the Krakken, “Weird? I’m weird? You give away more brains than I eat in a month. Where do you find them?” he growled and gestured around himself.

The Krakken’s eyes narrowed. “People who ask too many questions, that’s where the brains come from. Use yours a little more wisely and you might get to keep it!”
Bruno thumbed the edge of his Mattock. “Volunteers,” he said, “sometimes they must be ‘convinced’ to volunteer, but they are most freely given.”
“I have seen you,” Maris cackled, “Why do you stay here in Denver? Why not piss people off in Colorado Springs?”
Sticks stepped forward “Do not mock us. This is the center of power,” he said, “The Great Old Ones demanded it!”
“So far, Dr. James Dobson and his Focus on the Family have kept us out,” The Krakken replied, “but it won’t stay that way. Trust me.”
“We have Internet,” Bruno added, “piss all off, no matter where one lives.” Bruno suddenly leapt forward, and swung the mattock. He caught Maris full in the chest. A gout of green blood flowed from the wound. Maris grabbed the blade and wrenched it from his shattered ribcage. Dodging a chain swung by Sticks, Maris slipped behind a headstone and placed it between him and those that would harm him.
He hissed wildly. “Who is in this Malignari?” he asked as he probed his wound with one yellowed claw.
“There is Bruno, of course,” Sticks said gesturing at Bruno, “he brought me in with O’Taylor, may he rest in peace. There’s The Krakken, of course, and Radu. I haven’t seen him in a while. I fear the worst. Then there was a guy named Ramirez, just another tragic drum stick accident.”
Bruno moved slowly closer, the blood of Maris dripping off of his Mattock. “Most funny!” Bruno laughed, “poof! Nothing but ashes.” T
he Krakken frowned. “The last time I saw Radu,” he said, “he was off somewhere on the Great Divide. Bigfoot hunting is his thing. I think he might have met his match. He’s been gone for some time now.”

Maris sneered and licked the green blood from his fingertip. “Why should I be impressed?” he inquired, “it is good Radu is gone. I would dispose of him easily.”

“You should be impressed,” Bruno said as he edged closer. “We are Malignari. We are unique. We stay afloat in a sea of copycats and bandwagon jumpers.”
“Yeah,” Sticks said slowly moving to cut of Maris’s escape. We put a lot of effort into our shows. Hell, it’s not easy finding some of the stuff we just give away at shows.”
“Really?” Maris said, “you kill The Krakken at your shows, Bruno, why don’t you just kill the M.E.R.T.? Then they won’t revive The Krakken and you won’t have to keep killing him.” Maris began to breath harder as he continued, “or, do you just like to touch him? To squeeze him, to feel the life leave his compliant flesh? To feel the warmth dissipate into your hands?”
Bruno laughed. “Yes, Bruno does not wish to miss the joy and wonderment of repeatedly killing him,” he sighed. “He can not die, though, and the Malignari Emergency Response Team serves us all.”
“You just like getting out your frustrations,” Sticks said looking at Bruno, “beneath that rough exterior lays an even meaner heart. I’m glad the Krakken is around.”
The Krakken shook his head. “Haven’t you noticed the M.E.R.T? They don’t look too lively to begin with.” he said, grinning, “like old leather face said, you can’t kill what’s already dead. How ‘bout we see if Maris is really dead, no? Heh heh heh”
Maris leered and licked his putrefying lips. “Oh I am, I am” he replied. “Do you know one named Murray? I am holding him hostage in this very cemetery. He is awaiting our marriage on Halloween night. Do you think he will make a suitable husband for me?”

Sticks stepped forward and rewrapped the chain around his fist. “Listen you, I don’t know this Murray guy but I pity the fool,” he stated.
“Wait,” Bruno said, “with enough ‘convincing’ you can make Murray anything you want…a lampshade, an ottoman, a husband, or a small greasy spot on the carpet that just won’t come out no matter how times you clean it.”
“Yeah,” Sticks added, “those rental steam cleaners just don’t cut it.”
The Krakken stood looking thoughtful. “This Murray guy, isn’t he one off those Uncle Sam’s Misguided Children types? I mean, if he’ll sign up, then he’ll do just about anything.”
“I say we waste this fuck right now. It’ll be light soon,” Sticks said menacingly.

Maris moved back a step. “Wait, wait, tell me first about recording your CD? We can play later!”
Sticks rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, all right,” Sticks sneered, “I want you to be happy when I finish with you. Well, we are using our own gear. It’s a lot easier to be creative when the clock’s not ticking. The downside is Bruno is never happy, so we keep doing things over and over. He’s got this whole rock star thing going. You know how guitar players are.”
“If stupid, moronic, drummers would do what they are told,” Bruno shouted, “we would not have to keep teaching Sticks to count ‘one, two, three, four,’ over and over.”
“Alright,” Sticks said as he held up is hand, “the whole counting thing has been a problem, I admit, but we always stay on the same page. right Krakken?”
“I could dig a raw potato right now, anybody got one?” the Krakken asked scratching his head.
“Come on,” Maris hissed, “tell me about some of the new songs that will appear on the new CD? Don’t you want to impress me, oh tall, dark, and leathery?”

“Hey, don’t look at me, Bruno. He’s talkin’ at you,” Sticks said.
Bruno frowned “What needs tell? Songs are great. Filled with despair.”
“Damn straight,” Sticks added, “we got a cool one about the Necronomicon called ‘Al Azif.’ Kinda doomy, and slow. We also got one about mankind destroying itself with technology gone awry. It’s called ‘Brought Down’. Fast double kick, kinda cool.”
“Yeah,” the Krakken said, “it just doesn’t get more metal then that!”
“Despair” Maris cackled, “I love despair. Does it have a name, this CD of yours?”
Sticks frowned in thought, “Not yet. That’s like something I’ll think about when it’s a done deal,” he said.
“Fields of the Fallen is name I like,” Bruno stated, matter-of-factly.

“You spoke of the Evil book, do your lyrics come from the Elder Gods?” Maris asked.

“No,” Sticks said, “The Elder Gods do not care about lyrics, so at this point they are not very helpful. Our songs are about the usual, you know: death, destruction, vampires, The Great Old Ones, The Elder Gods, Things Man Was Not Meant To Know, drugs, fate religion. Bruno wanted to do some Russian love songs but The Krakken just wasn’t sensitive enough to pull them off.”
“As my balalaika gently weeps…” Bruno sang softly.
“I swear!” interrupted The Krakken; “if he starts crying again, I’m gonna throw up. Sensitive, leather mask wearing, axe wielding… ah, skip it.”
“Yeah,” Maris said evilly, “don’t you have a soft song– something about committing suicide on a railroad track, or something? I think it’s a great song and Ole’ Krakkel-Barrel sings it really well.”
Sticks laughed, “Well, we don’t do that tune much, it has a little country flavor to it—”
“Stop,” Bruno interrupted, “this is not Donny and Murray show. We are Malignari!”
The Krakken’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Maris, “Ole’ Krakkel Barrel is it? I’m gonna enjoy watchin’ you squirm as Bruno does that thing he does so well!”
Maris cackled, and licked his lips with a long putrid tongue. He leaned toward Bruno. “At your next show, before the M.E.R.T revive him, how much would it cost for me to crawl into The Krakken’s body bag and bump uglies for ten minutes? “

“You crawl into that bag once and see what happens.” The Krakken said and bared his sharp teeth; “we can always use more props. A skull with a My Little Pony Mohawk…we don’t have one of those yet!”
“Yeah, Maris,” Sticks said, “it could be dangerous. Once we smacked his head haulin’ his ass to the stage and Nurse Nary almost lost a finger when they revived him.”
Bruno laughed, “I heard Krakken never last ten minutes!”
“Yeah,” Sticks said laughing, “but I think Maris would be doin’ the work.”
“Oh! Bruno get it. Like first wife. Just lay there, like dead…oh, sorry…she was dead.”

Maris wet his lips excitedly, “Since The Krakken has such great regenerative abilities,” he said, “would his wee-wee grow back if I were to bite it off?”
Sticks smiled. “Definitely,” he said, “but you might want to swallow. Otherwise we might have another Krakken to deal with. And one is enough, let me tell you.”
“Split it down the middle and see if two grow back!” Bruno added. “
Thanks for putting that image in my brain,” Sticks said and shook his head. Bruno elbowed The Krakken. “Maybe more fun for Maris, no?”
The Krakken was shocked “Why are we talking about my ‘wee- wee’? And for that matter, what IS a ‘wee-wee’? I think I stopped saying ‘wee-wee’ around the same time I stopped saying ‘boobies’.”
Maris leered at The Krakken, “Malignari has shared the bill with members of Gwar,” he asked, “what can you tell me about that?”
“They’re not the sociopath I figured they were.” Sticks said, “actually very talented people.”
Bruno stepped forward. “Malignari played with The Dave Brockie Experience one week, which featured Dave Brockie (Oderus Urungus), Brad Roberts (Jizmak da’ Gusha) and Mike Derks (Balsac the Jaws of Death) of Gwar. And a couple of weeks later we played with The Girlie Freak Show featuring Slymentstra Hymen…very bizarre, very entertaining, and much fun!”
“I, Maris the Great, could never hang with Slymenstra. The only thing worse than a pussy that shoots lasers is a pussy that shoots blood fifteen feet!”

“Oh come on, Maris, it was meant to be fun.” The Krakken laughed, “after all, Oderus is my dad…heh.”
“Yesssss,” Maris hissed, “I think Dave Brockie is hot. He has a cute set of buns. Which bands have influenced Malignari?”
“Jag Panzer,” Sticks said, “Dream Theater, Iron Maiden, to name a few. Oh I almost forgot…Bruno’s Russian folk bands.”
“As Sticks would say “Bruno has a huge CD collection of music no one in their right mind would listen to”. I am influenced by much.” Bruno said.
Sticks laughed, “that’s a nice way of saying Bruno’s CD collection sucks, but it is huge. Back off, Maris. I said ‘CD collection’. Didn’t we already cover that?”
“My influences are too many to name,” The Krakken said, “if you think Bruno has an obscure collection, come see my CDs sometime. I have stuff that’ll make yer head spin. I’d have to say that my main influences are definitely GWAR, Kiss, Cannibal Corpse, and Dimmu Borgir. Not that Sticks or Bruno would know anything about them. And maybe that’s a good thing, no one wants to hear a butchered version of what is destined to be a classic.”

“I just had an epiphany,” Sticks said laughing, “that could explain Malignari. If we all had the same influences we’d sound like one of those cookie cutter bands.”

Suddenly Bruno sprang forward and drove the Mattock deep into Maris’s back as he turned to flee. Sticks leaped forward and struck Maris with that length of chain Maris grabbed Sticks by the throat, picked him up off of the ground, and hurled him backwards. Maris quickly turned and the mattock blade was ripped from his back in a spout of greenish blood. The Krakken leaped forward and slammed Maris back against a tombstone. They grappled there for a moment until Maris pushed The Krakken back over the stone and drove him to the ground. Bruno swung the Mattock once more, but Maris managed to avoid the blow. Turning, he fled into the darkness.
“I will crush him…crush him to goo!” Bruno shouted. Gray traces of dawn began to appear in the graveyard. “Come, let us go.” Bruno said. “We will deal with him another day. Let us dispatch with Moore and be gone.” Sticks and The Krakken looked at each other and then at Bruno.
“You’re not going to like this,” The Krakken exclaimed, “but…well…ya see…”
“Damn it! They’re gone.” Sticks said, “Ok. In all the excitement they just kind of wandered off.”
Bruno’s face was livid. “Did you lose my prisoners?” he questioned. He grabbed Sticks and the Krakken by the their throats. “DID YOU LOSE MY PRISONERS?” Bruno screamed as he hurled Sticks and The Krakken away from him. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

To Be Continued…