Opening the door reveals a dim hall lit by a buzzing light, the blinking sends their shadows dancing across the worn carpet and onto the wall. Steve supports the young woman as she stumbles down the hall passing closed doors marked by brass numbers. The naked man shouts from the doorway. Finding stairs at the end of the hall, Steve heads down the creaking steps.
Folding her arms over bare breasts, Sabrina shivers. “Where are we?”
Nothing is familiar. The acrid odor, the peeling paint, the blinking lights tug at his senses. “How about we find somewhere warm and safe?”
At the landing, he grabs the banister and swings Sabrina around the corner. Within his grasp, he feels the banister give, wood splinters, and the handrail breaks free. He falls, darkness swallowing him.
Instead of tumbling down stairs, he feels as if he plummets, his gut rising into his throat. Finding his arms empty, he reaches out. Sabrina is gone. Rising from the darkness below, churning purple and black clouds curl around him. Gut falls, feet touch down, soft silent steps carry him through the deep purple fog.
Dark shapes appear within the haze. Swooning and swaying, the hazy shapes surround him. They appear like smoke, their swooning motions leave trails, and he realizes they dance in slow motion. He finds more of them, a mass of smoky forms in every direction. They dance, waving arms building smoky clouds above their heads.
Purple haze lifting, dancers increasing in speed, the smoke trails fade leaving solid forms, clothing rippling out of the blackness. The ghosts dance, their pale forms turning and moving on a wood floor. Dark columns holding purple rods rise up into a white fog where lights spin splashing red like blood dripping from the mist.
Thunder erupts, pounding into the floor. Another dull boom, and another, the increasing beat becoming alive, sharpening. The dancers stomp to the beat, their movements increasing in speed. A chorus of guitars join in, and music explodes.
Standing at the center of the dance floor, Steve glances around at the crowd. White shirts and waving colored bracelets glow in the black light. Some of the eyes glow as well like phosphorous disc floating on white orbs. The discs bounce and weave. The floor shakes to the beat of the drums and dancing feet.
Standing on a stage, a woman with deep crimson hair screams into a microphone. Her voice, harsh and demonic, shouts about blood and death. Behind her, the band shakes their heads and stomp. A bald man pounds drums splashing sweat glistening into the spotlight flooding his bare chest decorated with a dark dragon.
Feeling a gaze piercing into him, Steve turns around finding a woman staring at him. Her hips throw her long black skirt swaying and shifting about her leather boots tapping the floor in time with the beat. Her body flows, twisting and swaying, her arms climbing up over her head like snakes swooning about each other. Her dark hair bounces on her shoulders. He recognizes her pale face, her cute dimples, her slender nose. Her strong gaze pulls him in. This is the face of the killer.
She smiles, her glossy red lips curl deepening her dimples. “Nice to meet you, Steve Reynolds.”
A wave of nausea rushes over, and he concentrates on the woman before him, focusing on her glossy lips. He watches her tongue lick her upper lip. Smile growing, her mouth opens wider exposing glistening teeth. A red spotlight splashes over her fangs.
“I’m sweet like candy,” she says. Spinning around, she gazes over her shoulder. Her thin eyebrows bounce. “With a kay.”
Watching her smile, her pointed teeth, he realizes her name. “Kandy.”
Nausea slams down, the world darkens, and sounds fade. The music whispers, Kandy Fangs.