Author: Thane Page 13 of 22

The next morning brought them to the sprawl of St. Louis, where glass towers scraped the summer haze and parking was an Olympic sport. Mark managed to squeeze the van into a narrow back lot behind SoundScape Pro Audio, the kind of high-end music store where everything was sleek, white-walled, and intimidatingly clean.

They walked in together—furred, clawed, barepaw as always.

The cashier blinked. The assistant manager stared.

“You’re… Feral Eclipse.”

Jonah grinned. “That’s us.”

Gabriel leaned casually on a counter. “We’re just here to get emotionally destroyed by some price tags.”

And they did.

Rack gear. Lighting. Patch snakes. Power distro units. Everything they needed… and everything they couldn’t afford.

Cassie whispered, “It’s like a museum, but instead of priceless art, it’s all taunting us.”

The store manager eventually emerged, visibly excited, and even asked for a group photo. But when Thane politely floated the idea of “a discount, maybe, since we just got mugged by a mansion cult,” the manager just laughed nervously.

“Sorry, we don’t really do artist deals unless it’s a verified tour sponsorship. Still, huge fan!”

No help. Just selfies.

---

Defeated but not broken, the crew regrouped in a city square nearby—an open plaza with fountains, food trucks, and curious tourists.

Gabriel pulled out his bass.

“We busk.”

Maya groaned. “We’re famous.”

Gabriel shrugged. “We’re also broke.”

Mark plugged in a single light strip. “Gimme power and twenty minutes, I’ll make this fountain look like Coachella.”

Cassie stepped onto the edge of a stone bench. “If we’re gonna do this, let’s do it right.”

They set up with minimal gear. Acoustic, stripped-down, raw. People started to gather.

Kids pointed. Parents took pictures. Phones went up.

They launched into a chill version of one of their anthems—“Echo Burn.” No pyro. No fog. Just heart, claws, and passion under the St. Louis sun.

And that’s when he appeared.

A little boy—maybe eight or nine—wide-eyed, clinging to his dad’s hand, wearing a faded, clearly loved Feral Eclipse t-shirt two sizes too big. He was staring at Gabriel like he’d just met a superhero.

At the end of the song, he ran up with a shy, reverent voice. “Are… are you really Gabriel?”

Gabriel knelt down, tail stilling. “Yeah, little wolf. That’s me.”

The kid squeaked. “I wanna be a bassist like you someday.”

Gabriel looked like he’d been punched in the soul. “You already sound cooler than me.”

The father—an older man in a pressed button-down and sunglasses—approached slowly. He didn’t look like a music guy. He looked like he owned five companies and a small jet.

He looked down at Gabriel, then at Thane. “My son’s been talking about your band non-stop for over a year. We nearly flew to Texas to see you live, but the dates didn’t line up. Seeing you here today was…” he hesitated. “I haven’t seen him this happy in months.”

Thane smiled gently. “Glad we could give him a good day.”

The man nodded toward the bass case propped up on the curb. “Saw the posts online. People talking about a gig gone wrong—rumors about a private party, weird crowd, missing gear. Guessing that wasn’t just drama.”

Thane’s smile faded a little. “It wasn’t.”

The man paused again. Then cleared his throat. “What would it cost to replace your lost gear?”

The crew blinked. What?

Thane straightened. “Sir, that’s… not necessary. We’re managing.”

“I didn’t ask if it was necessary,” the man said, pulling out his phone. “Give me a figure.”

Gabriel blinked. “Uh. Around ten thousand. Maybe twenty if we do it right.”

The man tapped his screen. “I’m sending a wire for two-fifty.”

The entire band fell completely silent.

Jonah dropped his drumstick.

Mark actually choked on his coffee.

“…Two-fifty… thousand?!” Cassie echoed.

“For the boy,” the man said. “And because you gave my kid something priceless.”

The boy hugged Gabriel tight before they left.

---

Back in the van, no one spoke for a full minute.

Then Maya broke the silence.

“Okay. Who made a deal with a spirit at a crossroads and didn’t tell the rest of us?”

Gabriel looked dazed. “A kid. A kid just saved our whole damn band.”

Thane stared at the phone, blinking at the incoming transaction confirmation. “We’ve never been this lucky.”

Mark, from the driver’s seat: “Don’t get used to it.”

Jonah: “…Can we afford pizza and new lights?”

Thane finally exhaled and leaned back. “Yeah. For once… we can afford anything.”

Gabriel grinned and bumped his head gently against Thane’s shoulder. “I told you. The universe loves us. It just has a very messed up sense of humor.”

The van finally rolled to a stop at a lonely rest area just over the Mississippi state line. The air was thick with dew and silence—no traffic, no lights, just the soft whirr of the van’s cooling engine and the occasional chirp of night insects.

Gabriel slumped sideways in the bench seat, a trail of dried blood near his ribs. “We need, like… a spa. Or a salt lick. Or both.”

Cassie handed him a first aid kit. “You’re furred. How do you even bruise?”

“I don’t,” he groaned. “I just get sore in my soul.”

Jonah was curled up in the back with an ice pack clutched to his head and a bag of mini donuts on his chest. “You know what hurts? Pride. Also my elbow.”

Thane stood outside, crouched next to an open side hatch, inventory clipboard in one paw, brow furrowed. Mark hovered beside him, flashlight in one hand, chewing silently on a toothpick. The light glinted off the fur on his muzzle as he made slow, deliberate checks of the gear racks.

“Sub snake’s gone,” Mark muttered, marking it with a short scribble. “That’s fifteen hundred.”

“Power distro box,” Thane added grimly. “Another twelve hundred.”

Mark grunted. “Couple lights, maybe more. We were lucky to get out with the board and mains.”

“Yeah,” Thane muttered. “Lucky.”

He sat back on his haunches, claws curling around the clipboard, frowning hard. Gabriel appeared behind him, silently easing down into the grass beside him. “How bad?”

“Five grand. Minimum. Maybe more if the monitors got cracked.”

Gabriel let out a slow whistle. “Well. That’s almost exactly four grand more than we’ve got.”

Cassie poked her head out from the side door, face half-lit by the interior dome light. “We could sell Jonah’s drum kit?”

“Over my dead body,” came the groan from inside.

Gabriel snorted. “Honestly, they’d probably just try to stuff you in a cage again if you tried to pawn it.”

Thane didn’t laugh. Not really. He just stared at the clipboard like it personally offended him.

Mark finally broke the silence. “We did the right thing.”

Thane didn’t look up. “Doesn’t mean we can afford it.”

Mark tossed a small roll of electrical tape onto the rack and stood, dusting his paws off. “Nope. But broken gear’s better than broken pack.”

There was a long pause before Thane gave a low, tired exhale through his nose. “Yeah.”

Gabriel leaned his head gently against Thane’s shoulder, letting their fur mingle in the dark. “We’ll figure something out. Sell shirts. Busk. Rob a bank.”

Cassie: “Honestly, I’d pay good money to watch you try to sweet-talk a loan officer.”

Gabriel tilted his head dramatically. “‘Hi, sir. I’d like a small business loan for my totally legitimate rock band—ignore the claws and glowing eyes.’”

Rico, half-asleep in the passenger seat, muttered, “We could do another sketchy gig. Just not one hosted by cultists this time.”

Maya piped up from inside, dry as ever: “No basements. No velvet curtains. No freaks in red suits.”

Thane finally cracked a faint grin.

He stood, stretched, and looked up at the fading stars. “Alright. Sleep while you can. Tomorrow… we hunt down an audio supplier who takes pity payments.”

Gabriel grinned up at him. “Or we start charging for backstage cuddles.”

Thane rolled his eyes and climbed back into the van. “We’d still be broke. You give those away for free.”

Gabriel huffed, mock-offended. “Only to you.”

The address came through last-minute.

High-paying private party. “Upscale crowd. Keep it classy. Dress nice, no stage-diving.”

Cassie had raised an eyebrow. “Do they know who they booked?”

They didn’t. Or they did—and that was worse.

By dusk, the Feral Eclipse tour van was winding its way down a private road carved through thick Tennessee woods. Trees pressed in on either side like silent spectators. Even Mark looked uneasy—and Mark wasn’t afraid of anything.

They pulled into a gravel lot surrounded by expensive cars, all sleek and black. Up ahead stood a sprawling southern mansion with glowing windows and stone gargoyles perched along the roofline like they were waiting for something to happen.

Jonah muttered, “Anyone else getting vampire cult vibes?”

Gabriel leaned forward between the seats. “If we play a gig for the undead and no one tells me until after, I will riot.”

“I’ll mix the audio,” Thane replied flatly. “You riot.”

---

Inside, the vibe was off.

Too quiet. Too smooth.

The guests were dressed like old money: tailored suits, cocktail gowns, diamonds you felt before you saw. They didn’t dance. They hovered. Whispered. And they stared.

Not at Cassie. Not at Rico or Jonah.

At Gabriel.

And especially at Thane.

One woman whispered, “They don’t look like they’re wearing prosthetics.”

Another, in a breathy giggle: “You think it’s real?”

Maya clocked it immediately and sidled up next to Thane. “This is a damn werewolf fetish party.”

Cassie almost choked on a champagne flute. Jonah looked like he wanted to crawl inside the bass drum and hide.

They were led to a small stage in a velvet-draped ballroom filled with unsettling taxidermy and one-too-many wall mirrors. A tall man in a crimson suit met them there. Thin, waxy, and too smooth. The kind of man who would compliment your shoes while ordering your autopsy.

“Play well,” he said with a smile that stretched a little too far. “Our guests are… eager to hear you.”

---

The set started normal.

Cassie belted her way through the first track. Rico and Maya traded solos like fire. Jonah hammered the kit like he was exorcising demons. Gabriel’s bass rumbled the room, tail flicking in time with every beat. Thane monitored the soundboard from stage left, expression unreadable.

Then the lights flickered.

Once. Twice.

Then darkness.

Total blackout.

The crowd didn’t panic.

They cheered.

In the pitch dark, a voice hissed from somewhere in the audience:
“Show us what you really are.”

Maya growled. “Oh hell no.”

Jonah whispered, “Thane—what the hell is this?”

Mark’s voice buzzed through the comms in their ears. Calm, dry, and urgent.
“Breaker’s still intact. That was cut. This is on purpose.”

The tall man in red appeared again—this time high on a balcony, silhouetted by candlelight, drink in hand like this was theater.

“You’ll have to forgive our enthusiasm,” he said. “We rarely get to observe your kind in such… intimate conditions.”

Rico narrowed his eyes. “Our kind?”

“You think we booked you for the music?” The man chuckled, gesturing to Gabriel. “A real werewolf. And your engineer…” He looked directly at Thane. “The seasoned one. How long have you been hiding, hmm?”

Jonah muttered, “Oh my god. They’re werewolf groupies with a science budget.”

“No,” Maya growled. “They’re hunters.”

Another figure lunged forward.

Gabriel didn’t wait.

One moment he was beside Thane—the next, a blur of black fur, claws, and fury. The would-be attacker hit the floor hard, skidding across the parquet with a broken table leg lodged in his ribs.

Thane moved more deliberately—less flash, more weight. His clawed feet scraped against the floorboards as he stepped forward, a living wall of muscle and menace. One low snarl from his throat made the front row stumble back without a single strike.

“I warned you,” he rumbled, voice like gravel and stormclouds.

Another man charged with a syringe.

Thane grabbed him mid-stride and threw him through a marble end table. The legs snapped clean off.

Screams finally broke out—but not from the band.

They were from the audience.

“Get them out!” Thane snapped over the comm. “Mark, light us a path!”

Red spotlights exploded to life from the hallway entrance—burning beams cutting through the smoke like blades. Mark’s signature.

Cassie, Jonah, Rico, and Maya moved fast, hauling gear, covering each other. Gabriel cleared the path—feral, gleaming, a blur of teeth and claws. Every time someone got too close, he dared them to keep coming. No one did.

At the kitchen door, a man in a suit blocked the way, holding a taser.
Gabriel’s claws tapped once on the tile. “You really want to try that?”

The taser clattered to the floor a second later.

Moments later, they burst through the rear exit into the humid Tennessee night. Mark already had the van idling, side door open.

“Go!” Thane barked, hauling the last case inside.

They dove in one by one—panting, shaking, still riding the adrenaline. Thane slammed the door, and Mark hit the gas.

The mansion faded behind them in the mirrors—just flickering lights and long, twisted shadows.

---

Inside the van, silence reigned for a long stretch.

Then Cassie: “So… we’re never doing another private gig again, right?”

Jonah coughed. “I think they Yelp’d us under ‘live music and light werewolf mauling.’”

Gabriel, still catching his breath, flopped onto the bench with a lopsided grin. “Don’t care who they were. They came for a show.”

Thane—fur still bristled, claws still out—gave him a side glance.

Gabriel winked. “We gave ‘em one.”

The next fuel stop came an hour later, just shy of sunrise. One of those rest areas with a vending machine shack, overgrown grass, and absolutely no good reason to exist.

Gabriel was halfway through another cup of terrible coffee, and Thane was standing outside the van stretching, tail flicking in the early morning breeze. Maya was pacing near the back, earbuds still in, but now visibly relaxed—though she kept glancing at the tree line like she was expecting that creeper to reappear for round two.

And then came Mark.

No one heard him walk up. No one ever did.

He just appeared, clutching a half-eaten bag of pretzels, with that same eternally bored expression like someone had dragged him out of bed and he still hadn’t forgiven them.

He eyed Thane.

Then Gabriel.

Then Maya.

Then back to Thane.

“…So. Hero complex kicked in tonight, huh?”

Thane tilted his head. “Did what needed to be done.”

Mark crunched a pretzel. Loudly. Stared at him. “You know she’s going to give you hell for that for the next three cities, right?”

Maya didn’t even look up. “Damn right I am.”

Gabriel, from the other side of the van, casually leaned over the hood. “Oh, it’s fine. He’s got backup. I already gave him the guilt trip and threatened to bite him.”

Mark raised one graying eyebrow. “Did you now.”

Thane sighed. “He was tired.”

Gabriel raised his cup. “Caffeine-deprived. Very fragile.”

Mark popped another pretzel in his mouth, chewing slowly. Thoughtful.

“…You two are exhausting.”

He turned to walk back toward the van but paused just long enough to deadpan over his shoulder:

“Next time someone needs to be scared off, let me do it. I don’t need to growl. I just exist.”

The van door clunked shut behind Thane as he climbed back in, sliding into the passenger seat. The others were scattered—Cassie had called dibs on the bench to sleep, Jonah was curled up around a sack of jerky like a dragon guarding treasure, and Maya had her earbuds in, eyes closed but still buzzing from adrenaline.

Gabriel sat behind the wheel, paws on the steering wheel, idling with a lukewarm gas station coffee in one hand. He didn’t look over. Just sipped. Slowly.

Then:
“So. You gonna tell me when you joined the chivalry squad, or was that a one-night engagement?”

Thane raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”

“You know—stepping in, saving the damsel, flexing a little fur,” Gabriel said, dragging out every word like molasses. “Very knightly. I’m surprised you didn’t toss a flannel over a puddle first.”

Thane snorted. “She was getting grabbed, I stopped it. You want me to not do that?”

Gabriel finally turned, grinning wide. Just a little too wide. Icy blue eyes gleaming with the kind of energy that screamed dangerously under-caffeinated and looking for an excuse.

“Oh no, I think it was adorable,” he said, leaning a little closer. “My big strong wolf, defending another guitarist like she’s some sacred relic. Very noble. Very growly.”

Thane gave him a sideways look. “You jealous?”

Gabriel’s ears flicked, and his smirk sharpened—literally. A flash of white fangs. “Me? Nahhh. It’s not like I wanted to handle the guy myself or anything. Or that watching you go full apex predator didn’t make my tail twitch a little.”

Thane rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at the edge of his muzzle. “You done?”

Gabriel leaned in close, voice low and mock-serious, warm breath just brushing Thane’s ear.

“You’re mine. Everyone knows it. Even she knows it. But next time you break out the full ‘protective werewolf’ routine, make sure it’s for me, yeah?”

He paused, then added with a sleepy grin and a teasing glint in his eye, “Otherwise, I might just bite you — just to make sure you remember.”

Thane didn’t flinch. He just leaned back, head tilted lazily. “That a promise?”

Gabriel blinked — then grinned again, this time softer. Less fang, more warmth. “Keep talking like that and I’m gonna leave a mark.”

Thane reached over and stole his coffee.

“HEY—”

“I love you,” Thane said, sipping it.

Gabriel sighed dramatically, flipping on the headlights. “You’re lucky you’re mine.”

As the van rumbled back onto the highway, fading taillights glowing red in the misty dark, Gabriel finally relaxed into his seat.

“…Still should’ve let me handle the guy, though.”

Thane smirked. “Next time, I’ll bring popcorn.”

It was somewhere past 2 a.m. when the tour van finally creaked into the fluorescent-lit lot of a weathered old truck stop just off I-55. The kind of place that looked like it hadn’t changed since the ’80s, right down to the buzzing neon sign that said Open 24 Hours but was missing the “O.”

Inside, it was that surreal mix of too-clean diner booths and dusty shelves of snacks no one had bought in years. Jonah darted for the drink cooler like a kid at recess, eyes wide. “Mountain Dew or Code Red? Wait, do they have Code Red?”

Thane stayed back near the doorway, arms crossed, eyes scanning. He was tired, road-dusted, and his fur itched under his black polo. Gabriel, next to him, looked about two cups of coffee short of his usual chaos, but still alert—especially when a few locals peeked up at the sight of bare clawed feet padding softly on the tile.

Mark had already disappeared somewhere into the back, probably sniffing out the nearest working coffee pot or a fuse box to “fix.” Maya, meanwhile, strutted up to the diner counter like she owned it, plopping down on a stool and ordering pancakes like she wasn’t the baddest rhythm guitarist this side of Memphis.

That’s when he showed up.

Tall. Stringy. Smelled like diesel and cheap whiskey. That kind of smile you only see in mugshots and back alley ghost stories. He slid up next to Maya, leaned in way too close.

“Hey there, sweetheart. You lookin’ real fine tonight. You in a band or somethin’?”

Maya didn’t even look up. “Not interested, cowboy.”

“Aww, c’mon now. I like ‘em feisty.”

Thane clocked the guy the second he entered. The tone of his voice—the angle of his lean—it all screamed trouble. Gabriel had picked up on it too and was already shifting on his paws, ears twitching.

Maya stood up, eye to eye with the guy. “You should walk away.”

“Or what?” he sneered, grabbing her wrist. “You gonna bite me?”

That was it.

Thane didn’t growl. He didn’t snarl. He just moved.

One second he was against the wall. The next, he was right there, looming over both of them, brown fur bristling under the truck stop lights. His icy blue eyes practically glowed.

He didn’t roar or shout—he spoke.

“You’re going to let go of her. Now.”

The guy turned, looking up—and then up a bit more. Thane was a wall of muscle, claws curled just enough to catch the light. The man faltered.

“I… I was just joking, man. No harm—”

Thane leaned in, voice low and lethal. “You lay a finger on her again and I’ll show you what real harm looks like.”

The guy backed off fast. Practically stumbled over a mop bucket on his way out. The ding of the door chime sounded like a finish line bell.

Maya glared at Thane, arms crossed tight. “I had that.”

He just raised an eyebrow, brushing a few silver-streaked strands out of his face. “I know.”

“Hmph.”

Later, outside by the van while the others argued over snack rations and Jonah bounced from soda to soda, Maya nudged Thane’s arm—barely perceptible.

“…Thanks. I mean, not that I needed it. But…” She sighed. “Okay. I was scared. Just a little. But if you tell anyone I said that—”

Thane gave a quiet chuckle and leaned down just enough to nudge her shoulder with his. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The GPS said “Danny’s Barrelhouse.” The sign out front said “D’Nys.” Half the bulbs were out. One flickered like it was dying of embarrassment.

Gabriel peered through the bug-smeared van window. “This place looks like it got condemned and just didn’t notice.”

Mark gave a slow blink from the passenger seat. “I’ve been in worse.”

Thane grunted from the driver’s seat, pulling into the gravel lot with a crunch. “Name two.”

Mark didn’t answer.

The dive bar sat between a pawn shop and a taxidermy place that proudly advertised “We Mount Anything.” A lone neon sign buzzed over the front door, casting a radioactive green glow on a pair of tipped-over barstools and what was either an opossum or a very drunk cat.

Cassie stepped out and sniffed the air. “Smells like regret and pickle juice.”

Inside, the bar was dim, humid, and full of character—if the character in question was a whiskey-soaked cryptid who played darts with switchblades. The stage was barely big enough for a drum kit and a bad attitude. The sound system looked like it had been built during the Cold War, and someone had clearly spilled a drink on it in every decade since.

A bartender with half a mohawk and a full neck tattoo waved them in. “You the band?”

Gabriel smiled. “Yes, sir. Feral Eclipse.”

“Cool. Set up fast. The bingo crowd’s still in the parking lot, and they get mean when the jukebox stops.”

As Thane unloaded cables and gear like a man preparing for war, Jonah wandered toward the stage and poked at a speaker that gave off an ominous wheeze.

“Pretty sure this thing just said a racial slur.”

Rico stepped over a puddle that may have been beer or ammonia. “If I get electrocuted tonight, I’m haunting Gabriel.”

Maya shot a glance around the bar. “You sure we’re not in a Quentin Tarantino movie?”

“I’m almost sure,” Thane muttered.

They managed to wedge themselves onto the stage, Mark doing his lighting magic with three clamp lights and a prayer. The bar regulars stared with a mix of suspicion and mild amusement. One man in a “Born to Fish, Forced to Work” tank top raised his beer and nodded at Thane.

“Nice boots.”

Thane looked down at his bare clawed feet, then back up. “Thanks. Yours are… consistent.”

The first song blasted through the space like a sonic cleansing. Gabriel’s bass lines cracked a pint glass. Maya’s riffs scared off the jukebox entirely—it sparked and died in the corner. Cassie’s voice melted the wax off a decorative deer skull.

Jonah went full animal behind the kit, launching into his fills with the grace of a caffeinated bear. Rico’s solos carved holes in the cigarette haze, each note daring the crowd to look away.

And the crowd?

They loved it.

One woman tossed her bra at Cassie and missed by four feet, hitting Mark in the face. He didn’t even flinch. Another guy tried to mosh with a barstool and immediately got ejected by the bartender, who high-fived Gabriel on his way back behind the bar.

By the end of the second set, people were dancing. Not well. Not in time. But with wild, drunken joy.

Thane worked the soundboard like it owed him money, drenched in sweat, barely keeping the system from exploding. At one point he smacked the compressor with a flashlight, and it started working better.

Cassie leaned into her mic between songs. “We’re Feral Eclipse. We love you weirdos.”

A guy screamed, “I WANNA BE A WEREWOLF!”

Mark just muttered, “No, you don’t.”

After the show, they got paid in mostly cash and half a gift card to a gas station that might not exist anymore. The bartender slid Thane a paper envelope and said, “That was the loudest this place has ever been without police showing up.”

Thane smirked. “Give it time.”

Back in the van, everyone collapsed into their usual piles.

“That wasn’t entirely awful,” Jonah offered.

“It was half-awful,” Rico corrected. “With a chaser of almost-fun.”

Gabriel grinned, fangy and delighted. “I’d play there again.”

Cassie threw a towel at him.

Thane leaned his head against the window, eyes closed, voice low.

“We survive everything.”

Mark, already dozing in the back, cracked one eye open. “Even this.”

And the van rolled into the night, chasing the next disaster with claws, chords, and caffeine.

The smell hit them first.

Grease, funnel cake, dust, livestock, and teen rebellion—it was the unmistakable bouquet of a county fair.

The fairgrounds sprawled across several acres, dotted with rusting rides, questionably secured game booths, and concession stands with names like Curly Fries 4 Jesus and Corn Dog Kingdom. A Ferris wheel turned slowly above it all like an ominous eye, watching, judging.

The “stage” for the Battle of the Bands was tucked beside the demolition derby arena and dangerously close to the goat enclosure. A hand-painted banner reading Creech County ROCKS! flapped against a bent chain-link fence.

The stage crew—two teenagers and a man named Dale with three teeth—helped them load in.

Dale, eyeing Gabriel: “Y’all one of them cosplay boy bands?”

Gabriel: “Sure. And we bite.”

Thane, muttering into his headset: “We’re gonna die here.”

---

There were seven bands scheduled. All of them looked like they’d formed last Tuesday in a group chat.

The band before them—Rage Farm—had an accordion and a kazoo solo.

Jonah stared into the middle distance. “I’ve seen things today.”

Maya whispered to her guitar: “We don’t belong here. But we will win.”

Cassie was warming up by yelling scale exercises into the porta-potty because it had the best acoustics.

Rico was double-checking his strings, fingers flying with practiced precision. “Do we at least win a prize?”

Mark read the flyer. “Says here we win a bucket of fried pickles and a fifty-dollar gas card.”

Gabriel grinned. “I’m in.”

Thane, behind the board, grimaced. “I didn’t bring us to Arkansas for pickles.”

---

The stage creaked ominously under their boots. The crowd—a mix of fairgoers, teenage metalheads, and at least one alpaca—looked up with mild interest.

Cassie stepped to the mic.

“We’re Feral Eclipse. This song is called Full Moon Breakdown. It’s loud. You’re welcome.”

Mark hit the lights—six barely working VL2Bs rigged to the truss. They barely survived the jolt.

Gabriel’s bass snarled through the speakers. Rico launched into the first blistering riff. Jonah’s sticks flew like fury.

The fairgrounds went absolutely feral.

People ran from the cotton candy stand to the stage. One kid in a “Support Local Cryptids” shirt climbed the goat pen for a better view. An old man in a cowboy hat started headbanging so hard he lost his dentures.

Thane’s gear survived the set—barely. One speaker caught fire for a second. Mark just used it as a smoke effect.

By the third song, the crowd was losing it.

Even Dale was dancing. Dale.

---

After the final act—Jugular Honey (who ended their set by stage-diving into the pig pen)—a very tired woman from the Chamber of Commerce shuffled up with a clipboard.

“And the winner is…” she mumbled, adjusting her bifocals. “…Feral… Elks?”

Cassie: “Close enough.”

They were handed a metal bucket of pickles, a gas station gift card, and a plaque made from a sawed-off cutting board.

Maya held the plaque aloft. “Victory tastes like brine and despair!”

Jonah already had three pickles in his mouth.

Gabriel took a selfie with a goat.

Mark, dragging a coiled light cable, smirked. “Let’s never do this again.”

Thane exhaled, exhausted but grinning. “Agreed.”

The alarm went off at 4:45 AM.

Thane nearly tore it off the wall.

Gabriel sat straight up in his motel bed like a horror movie jump-scare. “TV TIME! I need coffee, pants, and maybe a prayer.”

Cassie groaned into her pillow. “You’d better be joking about the pants.”

By 5:15, the Feral Eclipse crew looked… less than glamorous. Gabriel was trying to slick back his fur with hotel conditioner. Thane was in full silent murder-mode. Mark had sunglasses on indoors. Jonah wore one sock and a hoodie that said “Don’t Talk to Me Until the Encore.”

They piled into the van, half-dead. The streets were still dark.

---

The TV station looked like it had been built inside a former dentist’s office. Their green room was actually a beige hallway with a vending machine and a fake plant.

A perky intern handed them clip-on mics and a printout that said:

“WELCOME LOCAL ACOUSTIC ROCK BAND ‘FERRET ECSTASY’!!”

Maya: “I’m burning this place down.”

Gabriel: “No no no. We lean in. We’re Ferret Ecstasy now. This is our life.”

Cassie wheezed. Jonah tried to make a new logo on a napkin. It involved whiskers.

The host—Cheryl With a C—was a woman in a fuchsia blazer with energy levels illegal before sunrise. She met them in the studio with an aggressive handshake and a high-pitched squeal.

“You guys are the wolfboys, right? You look so REAL!”

Thane: “We are real.”

Cheryl blinked. “…Okay! Love the commitment!”

---

🎤 “Live on Channel 9 – Wake Up, Waffles, and Werewolves!”

The segment started with cheerful jazz. The camera panned to Cheryl, smiling like a cartoon news anchor.

“Welcome back to Good Morning Corner County! Today we have a treat for you—joining us is a band called Ferret—sorry, Feral Eclipse!”

The band, all squeezed onto a couch meant for three people, nodded in varying degrees of discomfort.

Cheryl turned to Thane. “So, you’re the lead singer?”

Cassie coughed.

“No,” Thane said, voice flat. “Sound tech. I make the chaos audible.”

“Oh!” She turned to Cassie. “Then you’re the lead singer?”

Cassie gave her best fake smile. “Accidentally, yes.”

Cheryl beamed. “And you all dress like this for every show?”

Gabriel leaned in, still caffeinating. “Ma’am, this is us. We don’t dress up. We dress down for breakfast.”

Cheryl did not know how to respond.

Then came the “live performance.”

They were given exactly one powered speaker, two clip-on mics, and a guitar amp the size of a lunchbox.

Maya strummed once. The speaker made a phhhfft noise. Jonah tapped a practice pad. Gabriel tried to hit a bass note, but the mic clipped so hard it sounded like a bear coughing underwater.

Thane gave up and plugged one thing directly into the camera guy’s headphone jack.

Cassie leaned forward, grinning like she’d already accepted her fate.

“This one’s called Howlcore Breakfast.”

It was the messiest, weirdest, quietest rendition of their usual chaos ever performed. Mark tried to hit the lights for a little flare and accidentally turned off the teleprompter.

The host read closing remarks from memory while the credits rolled—off-beat and off-kilter.

“That was Ferret Eclipse, everybody. Be sure to check them out at the Creech County Fair Battle of the Bands later this week! Stay tuned for local gardening tips and a segment on haunted doll repair!”

As soon as the cameras cut off, the band fled.

---

Everyone collapsed into the seats.

Jonah: “Did we just…?”

Gabriel: “Yes. Yes we did.”

Cassie: “I am never waking up before 9 AM again.”

Mark, deadpan from the back: “We survived. But the name Ferret Ecstasy will haunt us forever.”

Thane rubbed his eyes. “Someone find that napkin Jonah drew on. That’s our next shirt design.”

The GPS brought them to a squat, stucco building labeled “Mid-Oklahoma Conference Center & Banquet Hall”, which was generously optimistic. Half the letters on the sign were missing. The parking lot was full of minivans, bumper stickers that said “ASK ME ABOUT MY ORB PHOTOS,” and one rusted-out hearse painted with a wolf howling at three different moons.

Thane stared out the van window, unblinking. “We’ve been tricked.”

Gabriel grinned. “We’ve been invited to destiny.”

Jonah yawned. “Please let this be a vampire LARP thing. I brought my cloak this time.”

The banner above the entrance read:

“3rd Annual Paranormal Midwest Con: Energy, Entities, & Enlightenment!”
Starring: Feral Eclipse – Live Ritual Sound Journey

Maya’s voice was dangerously flat. “…What the hell is a ritual sound journey?”

Cassie, peeking at the event flyer someone handed her, raised a brow. “Apparently we’re headlining between ‘Aura Cleansing with Dr. Phaedra’ and ‘Bigfoot Roundtable: Why He’s Real and Probably Sad.’”

They walked inside like they were entering a crime scene.

The lobby smelled like sage, old carpet, and stale cinnamon rolls. People in wizard hats mingled with folks in alien t-shirts and one man in a full plague doctor costume. A nearby booth had a banner: “Past Life Regression While You Wait.”

Mark looked around with deadpan calm. “I swear to the moon, if someone tries to smudge me with a turkey feather, I’m lighting the whole booth on fire.”

A woman with eight crystal necklaces stopped Gabriel immediately. “You’re glowing. I mean, really glowing. Your aura is vibrating like a microwave.”

Gabriel, already caffeinated beyond reason, lit up. “Thanks! I had three espresso shots and a chocolate donut shaped like a pentagram!”

Cassie kept getting mistaken for an actual medium.

Jonah accidentally walked into a ghost photography slideshow and got stuck between two guys arguing about EMF interference.

Thane? Thane was trying to find the event coordinator. The only “staff” he managed to locate was a guy in a bathrobe who claimed the band’s performance needed to “match the resonance frequency of the collective astral field.”

“Do you have a rider?” the guy asked, eyes wild with chaotic intent.

Thane stared at him, dead inside. “Yeah. We emailed it. Twice.”

“Oh, right. Uh… we don’t really do paperwork. We align our logistics through crystal resonance.”

Gabriel appeared behind Thane, coffee in hand, barely suppressing a grin. “Perfect. Our lighting rig’s calibrated to shatter quartz.”

Thane turned and walked away without another word, muttering, “I hate everything about this gig.”

---

🔮 The Show

Their stage was a repurposed ballroom, complete with folding chairs, a disco ball, and one massive dreamcatcher hanging behind the band logo.

Before the set, someone handed Thane a “blessed quartz triangle” and asked him to place it near the subwoofer to “channel ancestral frequencies.”

He nearly ate it.

Then the lights dimmed. The fog machine—already rigged up by Mark—hissed to life. The band took their places.

Gabriel leaned into the mic.

“Are you ready to transcend?”

The audience erupted into whoops, howls, and one person yelling, “CHANNEL THE WOLF GOD!”

They started playing.

It was thunderous. Wild. Ferocious. The kind of show that makes walls shake and ancestors weep. The crowd didn’t mosh—they vibrated. Some people cried. One woman screamed she saw a vision of her dog reincarnated as a bass guitar.

Midway through the second song, someone tossed a crystal at the stage and Gabriel caught it without missing a note. “A gift from the spirits,” he said, dead serious.

By the end, Gabriel was soaked in sweat, the room reeked of incense and fog fluid, and Mark was holding up a power strip like a talisman against whatever might try to talk to him next.

---

Aftermath

As they loaded out, a man in a lab coat gave Jonah a handmade award that read:

“Best Rhythmic Portal Opening 2025”

Jonah: “I’m putting this on my résumé.”

Rico found a zine titled “Werewolf Soulmates & the 5th Dimension” featuring artwork suspiciously similar to Gabriel.

Maya was glaring at someone trying to hand her a pamphlet about lycanthropy as spiritual awakening. “Do I look like I need awakening?”

Gabriel hugged three people goodbye and was offered a speaking slot next year.

Cassie handed Thane a souvenir T-shirt:
“I Played a Paranormal Convention and All I Got Was Possessed (by Riffs)”

Thane didn’t speak for 20 minutes.

When they finally got back in the van, Mark turned to him and said:

“At least no one tried to baptize us this time.”

Thane nodded. “…We are never doing that again.”

Gabriel: “They want us back next year.”

Thane didn’t even flinch.