Two For The Toad

The deep, throaty noises were getting louder. Nearer, he could hear someone else stirring. There was someone else in this dank basement with him! His eyes had been adjusting to the darkness, but it was very dark down here, so little light to take in. He couldn’t make out the dimensions of the place, but it was large, and he sensed a large hallway. The center of a labyrinth? He could see some dim flickering lights over by the other figure. What was it?

Tied up with his own bass strings! If only he’d played a four string bass, he might have been able to wriggle free, but with six it was too much. He had been able chew off the gag.

“Hey! Hey you!”

“Urgh.”

“Hey, are you tied up too?”

“Ungh.”

Then came a loud clanking and creaking, as if a large door were opened. Around a corner, some light leaked into the room. The throaty noises were much more present, and louder. Matt looked at the figure, and now he saw what was flickering. It was Mantis, his trombone protruding from his chest. His eyes were almost dead, and blood pouring from his mouth. Someone had smeared feces all over him.

Then Mantis’ head was engulfed by a pink grossness, and his body was dragged across the prison floor by a veiny rope of tongue, straight into the huge maw of a disgusting, colossal amphibian.

Matt struggled at his strings desperately as he watched it swallow his former band-mate whole.

Good luck Dave and Matt! We’ll miss you! Much love!

--Dan Kilian

Editor's Note: When musicians leave The Ks, they suffer a grisley death and this is the record of one such passing. Or two. Who are The Ks? Why this entire blog, every posting, has been a misguided attempt to advertise for The Ks that just got away from itself. They're a band.


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