CHAPTER 035: The Ohio Asylum arc- BLOCK 6, pt. 1

Dusty ground away with the angle grinder, and blew with the blow torch. Miles underground, at this point, there was no reception nor clear indicators of the time. As a matter of fact, the machinery down here was only half functional.

For those except mister Whiskers, who got stuck on tool passing duty, boredom crept up quickly.

"Hey, I've got an idea," Lead-foot said to Juniper. "Why don't you practice that meditation technique I never got to when I was alive."

"The one your sister gave you as a birthday present? Didn't you sell that decades ago?"

"The memory is still fresh in your mind, so what does it matter?"

"There were so many memories... So many..."

"Hey, I didn't have a walk in the park either. Right, miss Trip Pants?"

"We agreed you'd never speak of that. I only dress that way ironically, now... For stage performances..."

"Sure, keep telling yourself that. Anyway, practice the thing! I feel like it will help me rest in peace."

"Fine!"

Juniper started practicing but, not fully grasping the intensiveness of the exercise, soon fell asleep in a lotus pose.

"Finally," Lead-foot's voice said from her lips. He took a look around, and found the other teenagers occupied. With the coast clear, he went for it!

"Psst! Yo! John," he whispered to the half-asleep hero.

"What? Who? Why are you in control? Are you doing something bad?"

"No, quit joking around. I'm worried about this mystery drummer."

"That familiar ritual must have been strong, for you to care about something other than escape."

"That wasn't a no; you must think so too, right?"

"I can't say for sure. Too many things on this investigation have been... unrealistic."

"Well all I know is there are weird gaps in the girl's memory, stuff that can't be explained with too much liquor."

"What do you know about him?"

"He showed up about 6 months ago, just before their little tour began. Their old drummer had died, leaving them in a conundrum..."

6 MONTHS EARLIER...

The sky was dark and turbid, as three teenagers gathered in the rehearsal garage. They all wore black, and stared collectively at the set of drums radiating blood-lust on the makeshift stage.

"You sure you put up all the fliers," Sandra asked in a tone devoid of her normal vigor.

"Yup, I even drove back around yesterday to make sure nobody defaced them," Dusty responded.

"Maybe it is too much to ask a drummer be able to play a cursed instrument," Juniper thought aloud.

"What can we do? Satanist Sam was so excited about this tour; if he can't be on it, at least the drums he never took home should be there."

Thunder clapped outside, and a sudden wrapping on the door awoke them from their funk.

"Just a second," Dusty yelled before retrieving a remote from his pocket.

CHUUUUUUURN!

The noise of the garage door being pulled open drowned out the sound of rain. Standing in front of them was a man, completely obscured. He wore a trench coat, black leather gloves, a floppy hat, and a cloth mask with no mouth nor eye holes. They could not see a centimeter of his skin.

"I saw the flier you posted at the bus station. You need a drummer?"

Even his voice was muffled to a degree that made identification impossible.

"Uhhh, yeah. Mister?"

"Call me the Mystery Drummer. It's one of those, how you say, gimmicks."

"Okay," Sandra said, stepping forward as band leader.

"Can you play those drums?"

"Oh, how beautiful. You did not disappoint when you said it was cursed. Can I give them a try?"

He did not wait for their permission, however, stepping toward the drums at a casual pace. They growled at his approach, but then a strange thing happened.

The Mystery Drummer wagged his finger at the drum set, and it mewled like a kitten. The solo he played was a little too experimental for their audience, but he picked up their material quickly enough. His audition became their band practice, and morning soon rose.

"And just like that, he was a member of the band," Lead-foot said, finishing the story.

"Did you know how the first drummer died?"

"Demon summoning accident."

Dmitri furrowed his brow.

"How long can you keep her asleep?"

"Not long. Once she recovers from that meditation, I go back in the head temple."

"Darn... Wait, head temple?"

"Yeah, she's got a little temple in her head. It's lovely, although I don't know how to get furniture in there."

"I'd recommend you ask a professional ghost, I just dabble. Anyway, worst case I can tranq you again. Could you take over then?"

"I can try. Just keep her safe if it turns out how we think it will when that door opens..."

When Dusty finally broke through the door, it felt like days had past. It opened into a small guard booth, outside of which was a completely concrete exercise yard. Sure enough, the Mystery Drummer was there, occupied with a game of solo basketball.

"Clifton, why are you nervous?"

"Nothing, I must be exhausted from how well you did that meditation. Whew, now I remember why I quit, eh?"

"How was he a criminal if he's so bad at lying," Juniper thought, unsure what about their drummer upset her new ghostly familiar.

"He's just a Mystery Drummer, after all..."