The green and red mohawked man’s jean jacket vest was covered in the most extreme horror patches and buttons I had ever seen. He had patches dedicated to Cannibal Holocaust and pins featuring Charles Band’s shit-tastic pile of cinema trash. But it wasn’t these obnoxious displays of identity that disturbed me so; it was the pinned patch in the center of his jacket that read, “Ask Me About Satan.”
These horror conventions are drowning with all sorts of characters. Here, you’ll find Halloween-Heads, Horror critics, Punks, and even the ultra rare, almost extinct legend that is the Goth. So it wasn’t really the patch that had my heart pumping faster than normal. It was his aura.
I’m almost positive this guy felt me judging his patches because he turned around and grinned straight at my face. I pulled my eyes away and started awkwardly staring at some shitty homemade spooky candles that some aged punk rocker chick was selling.
But what the fuck did I see? It was only a brief glance but I’m almost positive the Satan patched dude had tiny sharp teeth and bible black eyes! I decided to steal another glance.
Confirmed! The guy was still staring at me and he had the blackest fucking eyes I had ever seen. Shark eyes. The eyes that Quint from Jaws spoke about. Before I could process the thought through my energy drink trenched brain, the guy turned around and walked swiftly through the crowd. And I did the stupidest thing anybody could do after seeing a sharp toothed guy with devil eyes: I followed.
I pushed past a fat Freddy who was delivering one out of a thousand cheesy Nightmare lines. Fred cosplay voices are equivalent to Heath Ledger Joker cosplay voices so I couldn’t help but wince. But doing this distracted me from focusing on the man with the ‘Ask me about Satan patch. And that’s when I crashed into Sean Patrick Flanery.
S.P.F (thanks Chris) was fist pumping to terrible music. He smiled and audibly hooted in some sort of cocaine or super fruit vitamin burst. I looked past his orange glow to see my target farther than I wanted him to be. Flanery hooted again and invited me to a shared pump of the fists.
“Not now, Junior!”
I pushed past him.and continued my search for the Satan guy. I couldn’t locate him! I hissed a curse as I desperately scanned the buzzing convention floor like a T-800.
Target acquired! I found him taking a selfie with some big boobed girl with tattoos that she could not have gotten sober. With some sort of stupid courage, I hit continue in this stupid game of cat and mouse!
Just as I was about to reach him, or IT, a t-shirt vendor ambushed me.
“Don’t be shy! Take a look at all our overpriced t-shirts!” said the vendor who grew up on the Twilight Saga.
“Cool but, uh-”
“I know right?! See they all glow under black light?! You see? How cool is that – black light?”
She giggled and flashed a black-light wand like some 12-year-old girl high on rock candy. I wasn’t in the market for stupid shirts but I knew I couldn’t escape this trap so easily. So, I let her have it.
“Why the fuck would I pay $35 dollars for a shirt that turns on with a light that I’ll never encounter unless I’m raving with the crew from Return of the Living Dead? And if I’m exposed to said light I’d be risking the embarrassing fact that I have a ton of cum stain on and around my crotch area. Goodbye.”
Using my rudeness as Bat-smoke, I zipped past her and rounded the corner to where I saw the Mohawk Satan go.
“GOD DAMN IT!” I roared.
The fucker was gone! A wave of panic started to sit on my chest as I looked around like Charles Band looking for a paycheck. Was this going to be one of those crazy ass stories that would haunt my mind until the day I die? The story about the time I saw a real demon at a horror con. What a story that could have been.
The chemicals in my brain did a little dance and I felt depressed as I gloomily walked away to continue my gazing at Lance Henrikson’s liver spots.
“Hey.”
A cigarette cracked voice behind me said. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Somehow, someway I knew this voice belonged to HIM!
My heart pumped faster than Sean Patrick Flanery’s fist as I slowly turned around to confront whatever he or IT was.
His eyes were blacker than black. His teeth; yellow jagged abominations that could rip flesh from bone. Under his jean jacket vest, he wore a simple Hanes undershirt with a crude image of an upside down Crucified Jesus. This guy was the real fucking deal!
With a smile, he presented a large black book to me. The book was made of leather. The cover had the Satanic pentagram etched in fine gold ink. I know what this was. It was the Book of Satan! Once I sign it he would give me whatever I wanted! Just like in The Witch movie!
“Wanna check out my portfolio?”.
My saucer wide eyes and slit mouthed grin instantly dropped.
“Whaa?”
The devil guy chortled, put up his index finger to me as if to tell me to hold on. With his other hand, he pulled out his yellow teeth with a slurp. A line of spit webbed from his mouth and fake teeth. The spit string snapped.
“Damn teeth. Gotta love Spirit Halloween, uh?” He chortled again in merriment. “Wanna check out my portfolio. I’m an artist.”
My jaw fell to the floor. That’s when I noticed he was standing behind a booth that read: Vincent Vicious: Dark Mind, Dark Soul, Dark Art.
This guy fucking just baited me right up the ass! I started tearing up as I grabbed his book of art and flipped it opened. Inside I found life like pictures of classic horror icons like Freddy, Jason, and Dracula. The only thing was they were all drawn like Penises. The guy who I thought was an agent of Satan drew life like horror icons as if they were life like dicks. What. The. Fuck.
My lips trembled as tears softly fell down my cheeks. I Sad Dracula’d hard as I walked further into his trap by complimenting his Horror Penis talents.
“That’s soo…original.”
The asshole smiled a beautiful set of teeth. His right black eyeball popped out. A contact. He pulled the other one out. Two beautiful blue eyes twinkled at me.
“Not biggie. Got them cheap on Amazon. Free shipping with Prime. Total win. Wanna buy a print?”
He pointed at a selection of 8×5 prints of his dick art. He had everything from Regan from The Exorcist to a big black King Kong.
“Come on. Help me out. I’m hungry. I gotta make a living. You love horror, right? These are Con exclusives. Come on, these tables aren’t cheap. Whaddya say, buddy? ”
I must have left my body because I saw myself completely giving in by his sales Kung Fu. He sale slayed me. I was almost sobbing as I pointed at the Michael Myers as a penis print.
“That one.”
He pulled it down and autographed it. In what he must have thought as super clever, he added an exclamation in the shape of a penis.
“That would be 45 bones, my man.”
I trembled a smile and gave him my credit card.
In the background, Sean Patrick Flanery gave me a whats up chin and fist pumped in my direction as the black light t-shirt vendor hung on his bicep. She was waving her wand at SPF’s crotch area. His crotch glowed with a stain.
I cried.
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