GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: RABBIT MEAT

Ben awoke violently to the sound of a large thud. The smell of damp earth and rot filled his nose as he opened his eyes. His wrists burned from the ropes binding him to the cold, wooden floor of the dilapidated house. He turned, realizing now, that the noise that brought him back to consciousness was his best friend, Jake. His lifeless body leaked a pool of blood onto the floor. A grotesque, half-rabbit figure stood over him menacingly. Ben looked into its eyes, glowing with malevolent hunger. The cultists, draped in filthy, ragged rabbit masks, left the room. Ben could see them through the open door in the hallway as they circled the altar, chanting in a language that made his skin crawl.

Jake was gone. Ben’s heart pounded as the realization settled in. He was next. Was it real? Was it a man in a mask? What the fuck did he just see? Startled, he sat up as a sound somewhere between a screech and a howl made from some beast of unearthly origin ravaged his ears from the other room.

The mask-wearers' chants grew louder, in coordination with the horrific sounds of the beast. Desperate, Ben yanked at the ropes, but the more he struggled, the tighter they seemed to pull. His breath quickened. He had to get out.

With a final wrench, the ropes gave. Ben stumbled to his feet, heart racing, his eyes darting around the shadowy room. He slowly walked to the doorway and peered out into the hallway to see his captors in a blood drenched room with human organs spread all over the floor, organized to create an ancient symbol. A demonic rabbit beast squealed in the middle of the symbol as the cultists chanted to him from their knees. Jake’s face contorted in terror, an he stepped back. The floorboard creaked. The rabbit demon god, its fur matted and its form swaying like a broken puppet, turned its head toward him.

Suddenly, two tall men, their faces obscured by monstrous rabbit masks, stepped into the doorway, knives gleaming in the low light.

Ben froze. No way out. They were closing in. But then, his eyes locked onto a broken chair leg on the floor. His pulse surged. Grabbing it, he raised it high, his voice a fierce whisper, “I’m not going down without a fight, you ugly fuckers.”

The men paused. The air thickened with tension. Jake lunged, wildly swinging the chair leg.

Art and story by Hal Hefner.
Produced by Catmonkey Studio