As the all seeing eye of the camera opens, you’d be forgiven for thinking you’re in the midst of some kind of belated Halloween prank or crappy Left Hand promo. The shot slowly pulls back, revealing a wall of corpses set into generally man shaped inlets in the wall.



Finally, Corey Smith’s form appears at the periphery of your view, and his expression and posture would seem to suggest this is no prank. His normally confident stature seems to wither under the combined gaze of all of these desiccated empty eye sockets. Every so often, he’ll look up at them furtively, before a shiver and an involuntary cant of his head sets him eyes forward once more. Not that eyes forward is much comfort either, as the winding hall of death seems to go on nigh indefinitely, an unrelenting gauntlet of eerie stares and crackling brittle limbs reminding trespassers of the grim finality that waits us all.

Taking a closer look at Corey now, we see that he has his cell phone to bear, and he’s flicking between images that seem to have originated from an ancient text. It’s picture after picture of yellowed pages and embellished gilded lettering, sometimes accompanied by cryptic geometric symbols stacked atop each other, or worse yet, ghoulish depictions of human bodies torn asunder. Medieval medical text this is not however, as the dark designs on these pages seem to capture and hold you in a miasma of encompassing dread.

The shot comes around to Corey’s front, and for the first time he acknowledges us with a nervous half smile when he looks up from the phone. His tone is hushed and almost reverent, as though the alternative might awaken the dry bones hanging about him. Hey everybody, sorry about the grim surroundings. Don’t worry, I haven’t gone full Goth, I’m just on a very important mission! And to my tag partner at Warfare, Reggie, sorry for keeping you in the dark about this. I didn’t see any point in endangering both of us.

He pauses to wipe a sweaty palm on his jeans before bringing it back to cup his phone. He remains in that hunched over position, as though still bearing the weight of these centuries of dead. And dangerous it has been! You wouldn’t believe what the last 24 hours of my life have been like! It’s been like a Dan Brown novel or some shit, trying to get this information. He holds up the phone and its obscure images. First, I had to subtly break in to the archives in the Braidense National Library in Milan. It took my collective knowledge of all six Mission Impossible movies to even have a chance at success. But once inside, I was able to gain access to this ancient text that is purported to lead the way to a device of legendary infernal power!

It seemed like I was in the clear, when suddenly I was accosted by this creepy Albino assassin sent by the Vatican to stop me! We ended up having this INSANE cinematic fight all over the city, leaping over rooftops, tossing each other into fruit stands, the whole nine yards. But finally, I won! And here we are. He holds his arms out bearing a self satisfied expression. But soon the expression wavers, and he starts to look about at the corpses surrounding him, again withering under their creepy onslaught of eyeless prodding. Okay, okay….Fine! He throws his arms up in exasperation. It wasn’t like….all that. He kicks a pebble with his shoe, averting his eyes from the camera. I just walked in and talked to a nice old lady about getting into the archives. And then I waved goodbye to a security guard who looked to be in serious need of a tan as I left. But it felt WAAAAAY more epic than that!

Putting his embarrassment at his back, he shows us the pictures on the phone again. Anyway, now I gotta use the images in these pages to try to find where this artifact is hidden in these catacombs. I think I’m getting close, but after a while, one dead body just looks like any other. Suddenly, Corey’s eyes seem drawn to something up and to the left. He bucks slightly, as though suffering an insult. No, it’s not racist if you’re already dead!

The shot goes to a close up of a leering skull, which seems somehow dissatisfied.

Corey shrugs it off, turns about on his heels and continues on with his quest. He whispers to himself, eyes sifting back and forth from the phone to his surroundings. The camera stays stationary as Corey rounds a corner and goes out of sight.



By this point in the catacombs, even the walls themselves seem etched from human bone, as though this entire subterranean lair was progressively becoming more and more at one with death itself. We can only fathom how moist Lycana must be at this point. Unfortunately for our hero, his case of the creeps hasn’t abated at all. In fact, it’s gotten a bit worse.

God, it’s cold in here! And….and….hey camera dude! I want you to film behind me as I walk, because I swear the skeletons are turning their heads to watch me!

Are you sure you want that? The camera guy intones.

Corey thinks about it for a moment, before coming to an unconfident conclusion. ….yes?

Okie dokie. The camera dutifully turns about to capture the scenes left behind. We can hear Corey’s sneakers crunching on the gravel underfoot.

Well? Are they?!

I….I can’t tell….oh wait….what was….. The camera guy draws a shuddering breath…..OH MY GOD!

ARGGHHHHH! What? WHAT?!

I SHOULD TOTALLY STOP AT THE CATACOMB GIFT SHOP ON THE WAY OUT!

We see the camera jerk forward a bit as Corey gives the operator a shove from behind.

Not. Funny.

I disagree. He lets his ensuing laughter peter out before retraining the camera on Corey, who is now nose deep in his phone again. They round another corner, finally coming to this unsettling display.



He points to the centermost robed skeleton. I think that guy has it. Corey approaches the body, unable to stem the tide of a disgusted grimace as he looks it over. After a moment of searching, he tosses his hands up in frustration. I don’t see it! Unless…… Corey grunts. It might be in the robe.

You’re gonna touch that thing?!

You got a better idea?! UGH! I’ve come this far, I can’t let some old bones stop me. Corey looks the skeleton dead in the eye (sort of) and rolls his shoulders, hopping from foot to foot and taking deep breaths to pump himself up for this unsavory task. It’s just bones….it’s just bones….it’s just bones…..

Finally, gnashing his teeth together and slamming his eyes shut, he reaches into the tattered monk robe. Ewewewewewew……!

Did you get it?

What do you think?!

Corey continues to fish around inside, his face drawing down into a frustrated grimace as he fails to find what he seeks. Without any other options, he reaches further “south” down under the robe.

Are you molesting a dead guy?

I’m not molesting anything! And then, to the body’s leering face. Please don’t haunt me over this! Corey continues to search in earnest, until finally, he releases a clipped overjoyed laugh of relief. I think I got it! Corey calls out. Carefully, he begins to withdraw his arm from underneath the robe. Soon, we see that his hand is clutching a small item tied inside weathered burlap with twine. Corey wheels around to the camera, holding his prize aloft triumphantly. Success!

That’s when the corpse topples over onto him.

AGGHHHHHHHHH! Corey hits the dirt with the body atop him. A plume of dust arises from that ancient frame, and to add insult to injury, a small crisp snap is heard, and the corpse’s skull rolls right off it’s shoulders and next to Corey’s own head. Corey is suddenly eye to eye, so to speak, with the deceased monk. He flails in a panic, tossing the body off of him and scrambles to his feet, chest pumping like a piston as some of the color runs from his cheeks. It attacked me!

It didn’t attack you, it just fell over!

Aw, shit! Corey picks up the skull, and inspects the base of the skeleton’s neck. I need to get this back on.

Just leave it!

I don’t want the ghost of a medieval monk chasing me forever! Then, to the skull. I’m real sorry, man. With his free hand, Corey props the body up into a sitting position on the wall. Then, with a prolonged grimace, he tries to place the head back atop the spine, wiggling it to and fro. You can hear the subtle grinding of bone on bone. Once satisfied, Corey takes a breath and removes his hands from the skull. It stays in place….

Ha HA!

…..for a moment before toppling into the poor monk’s lap.

Damn it! They make it look so easy in cartoons!

Well, I dunno, at least stand him up I guess.

Taking the advice, with some finnagling Corey is able to get the body back upright. Then, with a shamefaced expression of futility, he puts the skull at the body’s feet. Seriously man, so, so, sorry about this! If you’re gonna come back and kill me, just please make it neat, ok? I’d still like to be a pretty corpse.

Corey reluctantly turns away and goes back the way he came with the camera guy in tow.

LATER….

Corey is back in his plush Italian hotel room, sitting on his bed and looking down at the item in burlap. You can tell that he seems nervous. Corey licks his lips in an anticipatory way, rubbing his hands together to the point that the friction just might cause a spark.

So what is it?

We’re getting there, my friend. Corey looks pointedly into the camera. You know Lycana, I really hope you appreciate all the effort I’ve gone through here! This is for you! He purses his lips together flatly in annoyance and rolls his eyes. Oh, dont pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s the reason you’re always so angry and constipated. I know you missed your true calling!

And hey, it’s cool. Not everybody can be a wrestler. It’s a tough job. And, in a way, your true calling is something of an upgrade anyway! So without further adieu…..

Corey takes out a pair of scissors and cuts away at the twine. It gives easily, unspooling with a quickness given it’s age. A hush seems to dawn over the room as Corey slowly unfolds the burlap covering. Slowly….so slowly it’s almost like he’s milking it! Until…..



….THAT is sitting on his bed.

Oh no, fuck this! I’m out! I’ve seen all those movies, even the shitty ones! The camera guy speaks. Just out of range of the camera, we hear him huff and stomp away followed by the opening and slamming of a door. Corey watches him the whole way.

Can’t blame him. And at least he left the tripod! He picks up the puzzle box. Okay, so I know on the surface of it this seems like a really, really bad idea! But Lycana so clearly wants to be a Cenobite! I mean, she’s just so TRANSFIXED by this pain and pleasure dichotomy, I think she’d make a hell of a Cenobite! Pun intended. And I know, one day, when some daft college student summons her back to the material plane via some vile necromantic ritual, she will THANK ME for my efforts! But first, we gotta get this bad boy open!

Puzzle box in hand, the young man starts to fiddle with it, pressing and prodding and sliding. He sticks his tongue out a bit in an admittedly adorable display of consternation. At first, he doesn’t seem to be getting very far. But suddenly, a bluish energy crackles over the surface of the box! With a yelp of surprise, Corey drops it back onto the bedspread.




The box becomes all jagged edges before turning and slipping back into segmented grooves. It continues to pop and roll over the bed, as a dolorous gong sound is heard. Corey perks up at it, tossing his head left and right seeking the source of the unearthly tone. But no sooner had the final reverberations of that haunting gong subsided does the room take on an eerie icy glow. Corey’s attention is then drawn to the far wall, where a deep rumble is heard, before the wall itself seems to sever and split. The blue light, just a tinge before, becomes an assault on the senses. Corey squints and averts his eyes as a foul odor emits from the new opening, a combination of internal rot and sulfur that pulls at Corey’s stomach and threatens to open a floodgates of bile.

Sensing their presences, Corey forces himself to look up. He blinks away the sting of the lights and putrid smell as four shadowy outlines eclipse the brutal blue aura behind them. Slowly, his eyes adapt and the ghoulish figures solidify.



What do you desire? Pinhead’s voice booms.

Corey takes a moment to compose himself, giving one last gag at Hell’s infernal odor, before he responds. First off guys, thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedules. I’m sure you have plenty more….

Do not waste our time. Speak your intentions.

He clamps his mouth shut, then reopens it, going for expediency. So it’s like this….are you guys “hiring”?

Pinhead’s eyebrows (or whatever passes for eyebrows) steeple in confusion. The other Cenobites look similarly confused. Except for the Chattery guy, but that’s mostly just because he doesn’t have a face.

This isn’t actually about me, but I know someone who would make the PERFECT Cenobite. She’s all about pain. It’s all she talks about all damn day: pain, pain, pain. Like the world’s most sadistic broken record. And clearly, pro wrestling isn’t enough to sate her blood lust, or else she wouldn’t be beating this horse into glue. Corey grabs at his phone and his thumbs dance over the keys. Just hold on, you’re gonna LOVE her.

The Cenobites all look at each other before Pinhead moves to reassert control.

Boy, if this is some sort of game, I vow to pull each of your screaming nerve endings apart one by one and…..

I got it. Here! Here she is. Corey gets up off the bed and hands the phone to Pinhead, before beating feet back to relative safety. Her name is Lycana.

Lycana…..he speaks the name slowly as though picking at something half remembered. Lycana….

The female Cenobite approaches him and begins whispering in his ear. She gestures down at Lycana’s picture on the phone, rolls her eyes and makes a “jerking off” motion”. Pinhead suddenly growls in recognition, and he brings his palm up to his forehead to doff himself for his stupidity before remembering he’s….uh….Pinhead.

Yes! We remember this one! She came to us two years ago.

Corey looks incredulous. She did?!

A bass disdainful rumble pours out of Pinhead’s throat. She solved the configuration and said she was interested in learning more about the nature of pain. At first, we were impressed. But when I offered to bring her into the fold, she worried that our gruesome scarification rituals would imperil her number of…..he sighs wearily….TikTok followers. I still don’t understand what a TikTok is.

Really? I was sure that was Hell’s doing.

No, but we are responsible for Etsy.

….really? Damn.

Lycana stated she would only embrace the untold levels of exquisite suffering we were offering if she could stay “pretty”. Clearly her devotion was lacking.

Corey nods. Yeah, pretty much how she is topside too. Fake ass bitch.

We even offered to start her out on our “Bunny Slope” package.

“Bunny Slope” package?

Mmmmm...yes. Starter pain for those who are just “feeling things out”. Basically we spread your fingers and run a fresh sheet of paper through the spaces in between, inflicting agonizing paper cuts.

Corey gags. Oh dude, that is HORRID. Did Lycana do it?

No! She was about to, but then she got a phone call. Some guy named Baphomet. But I think it was just a rescue call, giving her an easy out. Pathetic.

Oh, like one of those “bad date help me” calls from a friend? Corey nods sagely. I don’t know anything about those.

Pinhead tosses Corey’s phone back to him, and he barely avoids dropping it on the floor.

She was a pretender, and a complete waste of time. He turns his head, offering Corey an accusatory side glare. Something you are coming dangerously close to being yourself.

Corey emits a nervous little laugh, spreading his hands to his sides. Well, I mean, if you’ve done this song and dance with Lycana before, I guess our business is done. Soooooo…..

You opened the box. And now we demand our pound of flesh!

The boy blanches. What?! But that’s not fair! You let Lycana get away scott free!

Pinhead laughs, and its like vigorously chewing tinfoil. You think so? Hardly! We sewed her asshole shut FOREVER. Forever more she would only be able to defecate out of her mouth.

Honestly, that squares. But guys, I really REALLY don’t want my asshole sewed shut forever! In fact, heh, I don’t have the TIME to get my asshole sewn shut right now, I’m supposed to meet my friend in this cute little cafe in like a half hour.

I don’t care.

Corey pants desperately. Then do you think we could come to some sorta compromise?

Pinhead holds up a rusty meat hook, covered in human viscera. We do NOT compromise. With that, the Cenobites begin to advance on Corey. Panicked, Corey tries to put more space in between himself and the monstrosities, but there’s nowhere to go! Backing up, he trips over the leg of the bed, tumbling to the floor. When he rolls over, the Cenobites are leaning over him, terrible hungry expressions stretching their hideous faces. Corey holds his hands up and screams…..

A Little Bit Later….

R.L. Edgar is sitting in a booth doing his best to read an Italian a la Carte menu, when Corey Smith dumps himself across from him. R. L. puts down the menu. You’re 20 minutes late, I was about to just leave. His gaze shifts downward, to see that Corey has his arms crossed in front of him, with each hand cupping his pectoral area. Why are you holding yourself like that?

I got my nipples pierced by Cenobites. He says abashedly.

R.L., who is growing frighteningly accustomed to the weirdness, just murmurs, What is your life?

They didn’t sanitize, Reggie! I’m gonna get a nipple infection! Corey wails. Oh, and heads up but this is about to become your life too, because the guy insisted on joining us.

What guy?

Both of their attention’s are drawn to the peal of a gong, and the lights in the diner take on that familiar bluish haze. Pinhead throws open the door to the diner, drawing strange looks from the other customers. He drifts into the room, as though borne aloft by a supernatural power. I have such sights to show you. He coos malevolently. But the patrons pretty much just continue to stare at him dumbfounded. Oh, forget it. With that, he glides into Corey and R.L.’s booth. Corey quickly makes space for him, and R.L. is just processing it all wide eyed and mouth agape. Pinhead looks down, glowering. Your leg is touching my leg.

I can’t help it, the booths are small!

Pinhead rolls his eyes and picks up a menu. R.L.’s expression has not changed.

What’s good here?

What in the Kentucky Fried Fuck is going on here?! Edgar’s astonishment reaches critical mass.

Oh, I’m sorry. That was rude of me. R.L. Edgar, meet Pinhead, Pinhead meet R.L. Edgar. He intones it perfunctorily.

Why is he here? He looks to Corey.

I’m sitting right across from you, you know. Pinhead points to the camera. Is that the conduit for your promotional videos?

Yeah. And then, to R.L., He wants to cut a promo on Lycana, who am I to say “no”?

R.L. leans back in his seat. Well, this should be interesting.

The Cenobite turns to the camera, and his blackened eyes seem to flash with a hateful glint.

I….I think he’s starting….

Pinhead clears his throat austerely, and then does indeed, start.

Hello Lycana. You seem to be doing well, child. Or as well as someone with a sutured colon could expect to be. Indeed, it does not seem to have stopped the vapid charade you daily enact. You think we have allowed as small a thing as the boundary between realities stop us from taking account of your incessant blundering?

We are not impressed.

You are like a minstrel show to us, Lycana. Depthless and piteous. Speaking as though you know of pain just because you get tossed around a ring a bit, or because you stub a toe, or break an ironic Hello Kitty press on nail. You do not embrace pain, girl, you sport it like a chintzy gown at a fashion show. Amongst us below, you would be no queen. You wouldn’t even be fit to scrub the filth and excrement from our torture room floors.

What you fail to understand is that true pain, visceral, deep down pain, is not “cute”. It doesn’t dye it’s hair fun colors, flash a bit of flirtatious cleavage, and carry on droll conversations with cast offs who couldn’t cut it as Jakob from Twilight.

Oh, surprising pop culture reference….

SILENCE!

Sorry.

True pain is a ceaseless pit of despair, eyes sodden with blood and tears and the creeping realization that your torment will continue for longer than your puny brain can even FATHOM. It is horrors wrought on your body that are so excruciating and so severe, you cannot help but go mad for the sight of them! Have you ever had your own innards presented to you? Have you been made to feast on the maggot infested flesh of the long dead for eons, knowing forevermore that it is to be your only sustenance? Have you ever been lost in Hell’s Labyrinth, exposed again and again to sights of indescribable putresecent horror, knowing full well that one day you too will be on one of those stages, stripped of all shame and publicly eviscerated like a fattened calf?

Both R.L. and Corey are wide eyed and horrified.

No….no, you know not of those things. You are but an incipient child, dancing in the sun, woefully ignorant of pain’s endless possibility as you settle for a paltry falsity so as to not get blood under your manicured nails.

In short, dear girl, you are PATHETIC! On that final word, his voice booms theatrically, rattling the windows and causing the lights to sway. Corey and R.L. eye him cautiously, waiting for his next move. But, he simply turns back into the booth and picks up the menu. I think I shall have the Petit de Pollo Trifolati. What are you two having?

I think I lost my appetite.

Oh shit, I’m lactating! Corey's hand goes back to his nipple, which is now dripping blood through his shirt.

He cried out like a female when we did it. Pinhead jerks his head in Corey’s direction as he addresses R.L.

I kinda wanna see them, and I kinda don’t at the same time. R.L. looks torn.

They are masterful, if I do say so myself.

STUPID FUCKIN’ GOTH BULLSHIT!!! Corey barks, as he tends to his wounded nipple with a napkin.