The Black Metal Demon of Hoboken
Raven was hanging out and drinking with the rest of the "no good punk kids" at "Teen Delinquent Point" up in the bluffs of the small conservative town. She was 16, wore a leather jacket and smoked cigarettes because her parents "just didn't understand." It was 1996. She just watched "The Craft" and started practicing being a Wiccan because, apparently, that was what was the cool to do when your parents just didn't understand. She was drinking a bottle of schnapps that she had pinched from the liquor cabinet of her non-understanding parents house. Among the no-good kids she was drinking with was Stan, the new guy at school. He showed up around the time Raven started practicing paganism. He also wore a leather jacket and smoked cigarettes. He once said "my parents wouldn't understand....if they were alive". When questioned on what happened to his parents, he would become quiet and give a sly wink. Truly, Stand was a bad ass. After the bottle of schnapps, 3 wine coolers, and half a pack of Paul Malls swiped from Raven's grandma's bag, Raven and Stan hooked up under "The Ol' Statutory Tree". The sex wasn't that good for Raven, but then again, nothing was. “Liking stuff was for conformists” she would often say. After the deed was done, long, pointy horns began to grow from Stan’s forehead. He revealed himself to be none other than Satan, the Prince of Darkness. Apparently, he showed up when Raven started practicing paganism just to score some hot young tail. As he was zipping his fly and swiping Raven's last cigarette right out of her mouth, a hot rod burst out of the ground with a big ass engine driven by a bunch of smaller demons all wearing leather jackets bearing patches that said "Hell's Fuckers" with a picture of a cartoon devil riding his own enormous erection like a motorcycle. Satan gave the boys high fives all around, as they cheered "Yeah! Wayta go boss!". Satan hopped in the drivers seat, cracked open a Schlitz and they tore off into the night hooting and hollering and they were never seen again. Raven just sat there in a schnapps induced haze wondering what the fuck just happened.
Well, what happened was Raven was date raped by Satan. And Satan, being the bad ass that he is, didn't wear a condom. Of course he told Raven that he was, but come on, he's Satan. He's a fucking liar! So, of course, Raven was knocked up. Not knowing what do do, Raven tried to turn to her parents. Of course, after explaining she was date raped by Satan, they just didn't understand. Typical. Raven did her best to keep the pregnancy a secret. She figured that if worse came to worse, she could just pass off as one of those fat goth chicks that write lousy poetry. She knew she wanted to keep the baby. She figured having the son of Satan was pretty bitchin' and would score her some scene points.
She went into labor much quicker than normal. About 8 months and 2 weeks earlier, in fact. Right in the middle of an English literature class. It wasn't a very difficult birth except for the fact that fire and brimstone shot right out of her nether regions just as the teacher was quoting Shakespeare. "It was all sound and fury signifying nothing", he said. Raven explained that it was just gas and the teacher thanked her for illustrating his point so succinctly. On a side note, it was that bit of extra credit that allowed Raven to pass and graduate. Raven placed the baby into her book bag and excused herself from class.
Several weeks later, she was rather disappointed with this so-called devil baby. Aside from occasionally spitting up lava and maggots, he wasn't very devil-like. No horns, no hooves, no wings, no tail. Nothing. Raven felt gypped. Not only was Satan a lousy lay, but his kid was equally as lousy. Raven was disenfranchised with the whole occult thing and felt that Satan was a complete joke. Just a loser with a big reputation. "Fuck this!" she thought. She dropped the baby off at an orphanage, and joined a nunnery and become a bride of Christ. "He's sure to be a better lay." she thought.
Well, let’s skip ahead a few years here. About 13 years ahead. Raven’s little baby, Duane, is now living with an adopted family in Hoboken, New Jersey. His new father was a tile salesman and his mom was a switchboard operator. He was a pretty quiet kid for the most part. Kept to himself. Kinda gawky looking. Some of the bigger kids would pick on him and shove him around a bit. He still belched up the occasional lava and maggots, and this made him not too popular with the girls. This was especially difficult for Duane, because he was just entering those “awkward” years. The usual. Pimples, cracking voice, sharp and porous protrusions along his arms and back. One day, while participating in the dreaded and humiliating time honored school tradition known as public showers. Some of the boys called out Duane on the odd crusty growths on his back. Duane tried picking at them, but couldn't rid himself of them. The other boys started snapping Duane with their towels. Duane tried to yell at them to stop, but at that moment, some of his teeth fell out. Things weren't looking too good for Duane. He ran out of the shower to look in the mirror and noticed big bumps on his forehead. Duane ran out of the locker room in a blind, wet, naked panic. He ran right past the roving gang of popular, pretty girls. "Lookin' good Duane!" they called out to him. The rest of the week hadn't gone much better for Duane. His skin was getting worse, his spine was bending into a weird contortion, his fingernails kept growing, long sharp incisors had replaced what were once his teeth, and he kept bleeding from the eyes. He did his best to try and hide it. The 10 gallon cowboy hat did conceal the bumps on his forehead, which were now a good 8 inches over his scalp. However instead of just looking hideous, now he also looked stupid. Despite this new hideous/stupid look, Duane still somehow found the nerve to try and ask some of the girls to be his date to the school dance that weekend. Of course his requests were met with more crushing humiliation and shame. Duane was starting to become a bit unnerved at this point. In fact, he was becoming downright pissed off.
He went home and started listening to old death metal records while brooding and stewing in his own anger. Upon hearing the loud, angst-ridden music, his parents came to his room to ask him what was wrong. "Really?" he said. "I mean look at me! I look like a Tim Burton creature." "Oh," his father said. "Well, that's just your body changing. That's supposed to happen at your age. Why, when I was your age I was covered with pimples too!"
"But dad, these aren’t pimples. I’m covered with callous scabs and I’m growing horns!”
“Hmm, so you are. I thought it was some sort of surgical implant youth fad.”
“What? No! and none of the girls will go with me to the dance!"
"Well son, there's noting wrong with going stag to the dance. I'll bet you can meet a few nice girls there. In fact, that's how I met your mother."
"It's true" his mom said. "When I met your father at our school dance, oh the way he moved and the way he talked! Such passion! Such confidence! He didn't ask, he just took!" She started getting “that look” as she was recalling the events of the night. She leapt on her husband and they started making out on the floor right there and eventually rolled themselves down the hall to their room, leaving Duane frustrated and nauseated. Out of anger, Duane kicked his record player which caused it to skip and (somehow) play part of the song backwards. The song at that point almost sounded like it was saying “Duane. Duane. It’s me. Your real dad”. Duane was convinced now that he was loosing it. He sat down and started to spin the record backwards on the player. Sure enough, a deep, gritty, yet somehow pleasing baritone voice was speaking directly to Duane. “Hey kid. This is Satan, and well, it’s not easy for me to say, but, I’m your real dad. Now look. I know I wasn't around much. Or at all, really. Hell, you were an accident. I didn’t want you. I didn’t even really want your mom, either. I was just lookin’ for a bit of fun, you know what I mean? That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. See, you’re at that age, and you’re also the spawn of my incredible, fiery loins, so it’s time you started acting like it. I want you to make me proud, my boy! Now, here’s what you gotta do.” Duane continued to play the record backwards and listen to his fathers inspiring and possibly drunken, instructions and words of encouragement.
That night, Duane went to the dance. It was a pretty uninspired affair in the school’s gym. Streamers were hung over basket ball hoops, half inflated balloons floated lazily across the room, and Duane sat nervously in the corner and awkwardly fumbled with his cup of punch, trying to look cool. He wore an ill fitting tux and top hat from the 70s in an effort to hide the spiky protrusions all over his body. He watched the band play on the stage while all of the other couples danced. Duane took a flask out from his jacket pocket. It was black and marked with a pentagram and burning letters that read “Dad’s Hooch”. Duane took a heroic pull off the booze and steeled himself for what he knew he must do. He strode up to the stage, just as the band was finishing a rather lousy cover of Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey. “Attention foul mortal pigs and faculty!” Duane screamed into the mic. “I do believe it is time to start this mother fucker! Prepare to have your eyes burned and your filthy souls raped...” Duane kicked the guitar player off the stage and grabbed his Fender. “By the awesome power of metal!” As Duane held the guitar, it turned to a twisted piece of metal and bones engulfed in flames. He began to shred a truly wicked guitar solo on his unholy guitar with a blistering sound that could tear the souls of men in twain! “Foolish sacks of flesh! Behold the face-melting power of my axe!” Duane unleashed another furious metal assault on his class and a few faces of some of the members of the debate club actually did melt! As Duane continued to play, the spikes on his body grew and ripped right through his tux. The rest of the band’s eyes rolled into the back of their heads. They began to drool blood and proceeded to play the most brutal metal song ever! As Duane's horns burst right through his top hat, the dance erupted in a frenzy. The boys began to mosh and circle pit, which escalated into a full on riot. Chairs were thrown through windows. Molotov cocktails were hurled at bleachers. Black dress shoes scuffed polished wood floors! During the chaos, the girls at the dance started to tear the tops on their dresses, screaming and declaring themselves as humble offerings of the flesh to Duane, their Dark Lord and master. Duane was a mere shadow of his former self. He had been fully transformed into a demonic incarnation of rock and roll!
By the time Duane had finished his sonic assault, the school’s gym had been torn asunder. He strode from the smoldering ruins of the gym with two of the schools most buxom beauties in his arms. He mounted an idling Harley with his spoils and rode off into the night. At that moment, deep in the bowels of Hell, Satan was watching Duane on a flaming TV. “That’s my boy,” he said with a tear in his eye. “That’s my boy”