Look who’s there, a wandering adventurer looking for the Bananafish treasure! This episode is part of the interactive story/treasure hunt called “Quest In The Realms”. If you landed on this page because you’re trying to solve the mystery, don’t hesitate and keep delving in the story. If you came here through random loitering, what are you waiting for!?
7
You recoil, landing square on your ass as fear overtakes you. The ghost woman’s head twitches as it steps forward, the black goo spewing forth from its mouth.
“PARTY TIME!” it repeats.
And somewhere in your whiskey diluted brain, those words sound almost familiar. I know this chick, you think.
The ghost is standing above you now, and its singing. The voice, it’s one of a kind. That is, it’s the worst voice you’ve ever heard. So bad, it can’t even be punk. This is a voice that governments would lock up out of fear of mass outbreaks of suicide upon exposure to its jarring tones.
You’ve heard it before.
“Vic the punk?” you ask. “You’re…dead?”
“Hi Men-DO!” Vic says. She sings the last syllable of your name and you clasp your hands over your ears. Vic smiles and more black goo dribbles off her chin.
“What happened?” you ask. “Last I remember of you…you were speeding down the highway in your daddy’s stolen car.”
“Is that what you remem-BER?” Vic asks, singing the last syllable again. “The woman who bought your band, who MADE your band?”
Then, she sings full force. You race for the exit door but it swings shut. You pull with all your strength, smashing at it, but the door won’t budge. You’re forced to listen to Vic the Punk, Vickie the Pooh, sing.
She grabs a broken guitar and plays a fast riff with only two rusted strings.
So she went on down to the big bad city
Found the Tortillas but they were broke like orphan dreams
Bought them all gear and taught ‘em how to scream
Daddy’s credit cards quickly ran out
And Mendo the creep began to scream and shout
I wanted in wanted in wanted in wanted in
Let me sing let me sing let me sing let me sing
But no no no!”
Vic smashes the guitar on the ground. Back against the door, you grimace and brace for her attack. She places a cold, wet, undeniably dead hand on your face.
“What do you think?” Vic asks.
That was the worst shit I’ve ever heard, you think.
“Pretty good,” you say, “just like old Vickie the Pooh.”
“I need a guitar, though. Tres still has his right? It was a nice SG. So what do you say? Got a spot in the band for a vengeful dead girl?”
You stutter and fumble your answer. Fuck. Didn’t I just break that guitar, too?
If you want to consent to the ghost’s early desires to be a punk singer, turn to 9
If you want to thank her for her gifts, that you mishandled, turn to 10
If you give her the finger, turn to 11
