The Rock N' Roll Horror Zine

The Riffmaster General by Ben Fitts Lilith trembled as she plugged her Gibson Explorer into the massive Orange stack on the stage. Of course, her guitar wasn’t really made by Gibson and the amplifier wasn’t really made by Orange. They were just clones of the original brands. It was possible that those companies still existed back on Earth, but Lilith thought it was unlikely. Ever since the United Nations Of Earth ordered the exile of all metalheads from the planet, citing their presence as a danger to religious freedom and Christian values, the gear manufacturers must have been hit pretty hard. Lilith thought Fender was probably fine, though. The decision had no impact on indie rock bands or country singers. Everyone from the village was there watching her, sitting solemnly in their ceremonial patch jackets and bullet belts. She was able to make out her parents in the dim blue light shining on the audience. They sat front and center by the stage, as was customary fo...

Made In Norway By Josh Anderson Beneath a blackening sky, a Ford Econoline cuts its way across the upper midwest, a pathogen in the veins of the American night. Its occupants, exiles from polite society, spend their days navigating endless expanses of highway. By night they descend into basements, subterranean sanctums where black-clad masses gather to witness their performance of arcane nocturnal rituals. Except lately, no one had been coming to the fucking shows. The last tour had been an unmitigated disaster, plagued by perfidious promoters, incompetent sound guys, and pitiful turnout. The members of King Paimon held no illusions of achieving fortune or fame; their strain of heavy metal plodded along at a glacial pace, mired in dissonance and distortion. It was challenging music that demanded patience and rumination, scarce resources in this age of instant gratification. However, nothing had prepared them for the crushing indifference they faced night after night, playing...