This cover of New Order's Blue Monday done with instruments from 1933 is haunting my mind, and I find myself writing fanfiction for a cover song. Listen to it as you read.

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You open your eyes from the darkness, and know, with a deep, soul-searing certainty, that you are dead. A light comes on, illuminates a stage; a 78 starts to spin, slowly, scratching at your thoughts; a deep, bass drumming throbs through your hollow chest where your heart should be.

This is the Underworld, and this is your welcome. As the band plays, you stand; and as you stand and spread your arms, demons and gremlins and scurrilous creatures of nightmare flock to you and dress you in tattered black cloth and the ghosts of torn silk. You start to spin, lost in the rattling of bones and the bending of notes, and as a dead man's voice starts to sing, an enormous and delicate spider lazily drops from the ceiling, and with eight long legs places a simple black mask upon your face.

The theremin screams to a pitch. The drums stop. The doors at the end of the hallway open, and you walk through into the ball, a debutante in the Underworld, ready for your entrance, ready for eternity.

As the doors close, you hear a 78 start to spin, slowly, scratching at another's thoughts.

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TAGS: nonsense