Where is it coming from?
I glance around. Nobody else is here.
I walk further down the hallway. At the end is a staircase leading to the basement. I trudge down, feeling like I'm on a treasure hunt. The lighting's weaker and the temperature lower down here. There's one spotlight hanging above the only—you guessed it—red door, and I spot the same round vinyl sticker that I saw before.
I'm in a dark, deserted hallway with one measly spotlight. Horror-movie theories jump at me. I grip the cold flat latch and twist it forward.
Cold air slaps at my face.
Flippin’ ‘eck!
My eye's bulge.
My heart speeds up.
I want to scream.
I've entered an alternate universe. The sudden volume shocks my ears; the music is on full-blast.
There are about fifty people scattered around the basement. Most of them are seated on the floor. Some lean on the walls or hover.
There's a quartet on the makeshift stage in front of me.
The percussion and guitars swell towards a cliff. The song sounds like a stripped version of an angsty punk anthem. Damn, they're good. How can music sound so alive in a basement? It's then I notice the walls are covered in black foam. Cement walls have the worst acoustics.
The lights have been turned off, but colourful neon holiday lights hang around the room. There's a hand-painted banner that reads The Hush Society Presents.
My atoms start a riot inside of me.
I rush back upstairs because there is no way Eric and Benji aren't going to want to miss the secret party downstairs.
I pounce back to our table and find them debating over something minuscule.
"There's a secret gig in the basement. Right. Now." I vomit the words so fast they sound almost incomprehensible. I repeat myself a second time. They stop mid-argument with their eyes wide. Thank goodness we settled the bill earlier.
I bounce away, and lead the others on, proud of my discovery. Take that, Benji. I didn't get a free meal, but I've levelled up the night.
"How I love dark passageways," Benji says halfway down the dim stairway.
"Are you sure you're not leading us to our doom?" Eric asks.
"Have I ever?" I reply.
"Do you really want me to answer that?" Benji's voice is irritated.
I ignore them and dive headfirst into a sea of sound.
CHAPTER TWO
There is a different musician on stage. Gone are the lads dressed in black. They hover by the side, smiling at the girl on stage. How terrifying would it be, to be the only one up there? But she looks comfortable, confident, strumming her ukulele.
Even if no one is head-banging or dancing, there’s this vibration around me that’s hard to ignore. We are all one, connected by the music.
I take in the experience the way the French do with their meals: slow and purposeful.
I shut my eyes and let my ears magnify the energy around me. Her voice quavers as she sings a melancholic melody about struggling to be her own person. Her vocal tone reminds me of Ellie Goulding. I open my eyes as she brushes her pink hair, flashes me a weak smile, and then belts out the bridge.
"This is wicked," Eric whispers beside me.
I turn to see him and Benji with stupefied looks. "What’d I tell you?" I say, smug. "Still think I’ve led you to the pit of doom?"
"Way better than becoming a wizard," Benji answers, referring to one of the video games we play.
"Shush." Eric covers both our mouths. "I want to listen to the music."
I chuckle as he bounces up and down with excitement.
Eric, Benji and I stand quiet until the end of the set when the silent crowd bursts into whistles and loud applause.
"Thank you. Don’t forget to show some love to The Psychedelic Glitch. I’m Amber Skye. Up next are The Rioteers."
More cheers follow. A low voice from the crowd declares his love for Amber, and everyone erupts in laughter. It’s as if they all know each other and the lack of a proper stage creates an intimate experience between the performer and listener. My eyes follow Amber, who slaps the arm of one the lads of The Psychedelic Glitch as they burst into laughter.
The people around us speak in hushed tones and abandon their spots. They roam around and mingle with each other.
A girl joins Amber and The Psychedelic Glitch. Her mahogany shoulder-length hair with purple highlights emphasises the paleness of her skin. She catches me looking at her deep red lips, and stares back from across the room. It is a mere two seconds, but feels longer. I follow her eyes, which have found their way to Eric and Benji.
She turns her attention to the next band, which is setting up. It looks like she’s directing them.
"Imagine the day The Gramophones comes to one of our secret gigs." Hearing someone mention The Gramophones catches my attention. I zero in on a guy with a green Mohawk.
"They invented the rise of the secret show." A female responds to his wishful thinking. She runs a hand through her dark curly hair.
I make my way towards the pair situated beside the refreshment table, peeking to see if there's alcohol. "You guys know The Gramophones?" I ask with a hopeful smile.
"Heck yeah!" the girl replies. "They’re like a beautiful mix of Muse and Foals."
I’m still amazed when people say they know a band from Beverley. It’s a small town. It’s bands like The Gramophones that give me hope—from a small town to a massive stage. If they were able to do it, so can anyone who works hard enough.
"Your comparison doesn’t make any sense," Mohawk guy contradicts. "Tell her she’s bonkers."
"You’re bonkers." I say, but mouth just kidding afterward.
"Hi, I’m Ella." She holds out her arm covered in gold henna tattoos.
"Dan," Mohawk guy quips. "You're new."
"I'm Cameron," I say. I shake Ella's hand and nod at Dan. "Yeah, I found this place by accident."
"There are no such thing as accidents." Ella smiles as if she's hiding a century-old secret.
"Don't chase
