This was originaly going to be a shameless Nolan Whyte rip off, but as there seemed to be millions of those already crawling out of the woodwork I attempted to take it in a different direction. This is as far as I've gotten with it, though I have ideas for how it could continue. Tell me what you think of it, especially if it sucks.
The Castleford Guildhall stood crumbling to dust in the outskirts of the city. It was a large structure, with old, marble ledges and creepy gargoyles which peered into the night, pouring scornful looks down at passers by. The inside of the guildhall was also decrepit. The faded walls and antique furniture of the lobby was a depressing sight to behold, although few of the Guildhall's visitors beheld it for long. The main room was large with a raised stage at the far end. The stage was currently filled with a group of five twenty-somethings, strutting around belting out fast, vicious 'post-punk' to a writing mass of teenagers below. To the side of the room was a makeshift bar, which was currently cut off from the crowd by a particularly nasty circle pit that had appeared from nowhere catching the unsuspecting fans in an crazy mash of bodies. The bar staff, with no customers, had taken to watching the band up on stage wondering what all the fuss was about.
One of these drawn, tired looking workers, was Jim.
Jim had worked in the Guildhall bar ever since he'd left school, a huge disappointment to his middle class family. Virtually ignored by them, he lived a life of long shifts, late nights and low wages. This didn't bother him though because of Emma. His girlfriend of 2 years and his only true friend in the drab city. As he thought of her for the thousandth time that night his hand slipped into his pocket to reassure himself that the ring was still there. After work he was going to meet her at the Prophet bridge and finally pop the fatal question. The thought of it made him shudder with nervousness. He sneaked a shot of Jack Daniels when no one was looking in a vain attempt to calm his jitters.
The band on stage came to a melodramatic finish, bawling the customary 'we f--king love you' before disappearing from sight off-stage. That left only one more band: 'Daylight Dispatch', probably the most popular metal act in the city, and they certainly knew it. They swaggered out cockily and launched straight into their set. They were tight, and they played an awesome show. Jim was mesmerised. They seemed so different and so fresh despite their generic thrash tunes. The set went on for an hour and the audience hung on every second of music and screamed back every single lyric. The only strange thing that occurred to Jim was the total lack of interaction. No banter, no little speeches, just song after song. The show came to a close as suddenly as it had started and the house lights came up, dazzling everyone in the room. People began to file out slowly, clearly exited and energised by what they'd seen on stage. The workers at the bar started clearing up, counting their takings, and splitting their meagre tips.
Hey Jim, one last thing before you go love. Jim turned to see Karen, his boss, holding a large tray loaded with booze. Could you take these to the lads backstage? I've got to lock up the safe.
Jim muttered assent and took the heavy tray reluctantly, heading for the backstage door at the other side of the hall.
He tapped the large, oak door with his foot, waiting for a bouncer to let him in. No answer. He tried the handle with a tricky elbow manoeuvre and the door swung inwards onto an unusually dark corridor. Strange, but not unheard of, and he headed towards the faint noises of rowdiness that generally came from the green room at this point in the evening. His rubber soled shoes squeaked on the lino flooring making him wince with each step. He came to the green room door and pushed it wide. Dark and empty. Confused, Jim set the drinks down on a nearby table and selected a can of Strongbow for his trouble before turning to leave.
A sudden movement to his side made him jump. He turned, glancing around the decaying room, suddenly disturbed by the emptiness of the place. He'd never dealt well with jumpy movies and he was suddenly reminded of all the late-night slashers Emma had loved so much. He felt slightly sick and he leant against the wall for support. He never truly spotted the dark figure that lunged to his side.
The knife tore through his chest and severed his main artery. His face remained in it's confused expression, hints of pain seeping in, flushing his face. The steel blade retracted and a large diamond ring slipped through the hole in his breast pocket, tinkling as it hit the cold floor. Jim slid down the wall in slow motion, spluttering in disbelief, leaving a long red trail along the yellowing wallpaper.
The dark figure dropped the knife before stooping to collect the ring and the discarded cider, and humming eerily, it limped away down the corridor and out into the harsh cold.