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Lunchboxing Fan Fiction Presents:
"Nine Inch Tales" by chris weisbart 
Trent Reznor awoke from his slumber at a pre-dawn 5:30 am. The New Orleans dusk that enshrouded the Reznor estate hung with a dank humidity that could be smelled as well as seen. As he arose from the luxurious silk sheet lined king-size bed, Trent wondered to himself what had disturbed his deep, tranquil, and restful sleep. His mind shot back to the hours before he had slept: The 8pm jam session with fellow musician and rock legend Sammy Hagar, the opulent dinner at the Epiquine Rouge restaurant where Sammy had shared his vast knowledge of tequilas with an attentive Trent, and the final wisps of dreams that lingered in Reznor's acute, ever-calculating mind. "Perhaps it was the duck confit..." Trent joked to himself, as he wandered the great hall of the immense mansion he called home, "...but maybe... maybe not." He had hardly finished the sentence in his own incredible, vast mind, when his eye caught something on a gargoyle shaped wall sconce. The sconces that lined the hall usually held large black candles used when Trent was entertaining or any time when extra "mood lighting" was required. However, this sconce had most certainly been tampered with. First of all, the candle was laying in a horizontal position, not the normal, correct vertical alignment that most candles shared. As Trent moved toward the prone candle, he squinted, focusing all of his attention at the minute details. What he saw instantaneously started neurons firing in his powerful, genius-mind. Three massive claw marks were sliced into the black candle, almost to the wick. This fact, and the fact that the candle was most certainly turned over on its side made Trent pause, breathless. "The studio!" Trent thought to himself as he broke into a brisk run to the large sub-basement music studio. Trents' heart ached in his chest as he raced down the stairs leading to the sub-basement. Images flashed in his mind of the harrowing possibility of what could possibly be awaiting... ...but he was too late. As he rounded the hall towards the studio he could see the faint light through the cracked open doorway. Mustering all of his powerful mental capacity, Trent approached the door and peered in. The Studio was in total chaos, but Trent's acute mind was looking for a single, solitary item through the mess of papers and equipment. "C'mon...Where is the damned book?" Trent thought. As he peered in, however, the tip of Trents masculine-like steel-toed black utility boot gently pressed against the studio door, causing a slow, audible squeak. Trent's head whipped around, locking his gaze on the hinge of the door. "Shit." Trent thought with a deep sigh. Suddenly, without warning, the door was ripped off the hinges by a massive, powerful force and Reznor could see the entire, horrific scene. Papers and equipment were splayed across the studio floor. In the corner, probably dragged from the guest room where he was sleeping, was an unconscious Sammy Hagar. Equally disturbing to Reznor was the fact that he still could not find the book that was essential to the favorable outcome of this situation... but Trent was occupied with another issue at the moment that allowed him to focus on these thoughts only peripherally. Directly in front of Trent Reznor was an enormous eight foot tall Demon. Trent's eyes focused on the hand that had moments before torn the studio door off the hinges. Instantly his lightning fast computer-like brain identified them as the same claws that made the scratches on the candle two floors above. "TREEENNTT REEZZZNOORRR... WHERREE IS THE BOOKK YOU STOOLLEE FROM MY MAASSSTTEEERR? WHEERRE ISIISS THE NECRONOMICON?" Trent furrowed his brow, making his best attempt to look cavalier. "Oh that's all you want... you should have just asked!" he said turning towards the bookshelf on the right of the door. On the left of the massive built in bookcase was one of the many equipment racks that lined the walls of the studio. As he feigned searching for the book, he noticed that while some of the equipment on the rack was damaged, the DAT recorder that he and Sammy were using the night before was still intact and had even been left hooked up and turned on. In the back of the studio, Sammy began to stir, moving his foot against a pile of papers. The demon's head whipped around, and Trent realized this was the perfect moment... In a flash Reznor leaped at the DAT recorder and pressed the play button, simultaneously turning the volume as high as the small knob would go. A barrage of guitar licks and soul-thumping beats pounded out of six 13-inch speakers strategically hidden in the walls of the studio. The demon clutched its massive, pointed ears with clawed hands and let out a scream... a scream that seemed to almost blend in with the music. 
While the demon was distracted, Trent rushed to Sammy's side. "ARE YOU OKAY?!" Trent yelled into hands cupped around Sammy's ear. "Who me?... I'm fine, just a little hung over bro!" Sammy said calmly. "What's with the ragin' tunes?" The Demon, still covering his ear with one hand, begun to smash at the speakers hidden in the walls. Unfortunately he did not possess the complexities of electronic home studio layout that Trent had locked away in his beautiful mind, and was hitting blindly at the acoustic foam covered drywall. Sammy, still oblivious to what was transpiring around him turned to Trent and said "So dude, I was wandering around pretty wasted last night, and I found this book and started reading it..." As Sammy lifted himself off the ground, Trent spotted the necronomicon, hidden under Sammy's generous beer-belly. "STOP!" he yelled quickly into Sammy's ear. Sammy, who had finally spotted the demon beating the walls at the opposite end of the studio, gasped and dropped his jaw. "Okay man... whatever you say." "CAN YOU PLAY LAYING DOWN?" Trent yelled. "Wha...what? Play laying down? Hell yeah bro, I did that back in '93 at the 4th annual 'Hunnys and Bunnies' wet t-shirt contest in Colorado!" Trent glanced up at the demon, who had turned his attention to the multimillion-dollar equipment in the racks, and was pounding away with slow, aggravated rage. Like a longhaired black cat, Trent leaped up towards the instrument stands and left Sammy laying on the floor covering the book of the dead. He instantly made sure that all the connections were working and tossed a black Ibanez guitar at Sammy. "WHATEVER YOU DO, DON'T GET UP!" Trent yelled, as Sammy shimmied the guitar towards him with his legs, like some sort of old, chubby, hairy baby wearing a Hawaiian shirt. The demon had noticed the activity on the other end of the studio and was walking in a pained slow manner towards the two rock legends. Trent looked up as he finished adjusting the controls on his Casio Studio-Ready keyboard. He knew they didn't have much time left. "PLAY SAMMY PLAY!" Trent yelled as he cranked the volume knobs on the amplifiers next to him. As Sammy's skilled fingers assaulted the strings of the guitar, the loud ear-piercing sound shot from the amps and hit the demon like a cruse missile. Trent's mind raced as he saw the Demon fall back. "It's working... it's working!' he thought to himself, as his fingers delicately formed a cord over the black and white keys of his, amazing and extremely expensive instrument. With a spiteful glare, Trent Reznor pressed down with all his might onto the keys of the Casio. The Deep rhythmic sound erupted from the amps, blending with beautiful dissonance to the shrill guitar wailings of Sammy Hagar. "Go to hell, " Reznor declared, "go BACK to hell!" The demon stumbled slightly and tried with enormous strength to get back up. Then, with an almost confused expression he glanced down at his abdomen in pain. In a brilliant flash, fire erupted from the demon's belly and an enormous explosion shook the large luxurious studio. Bits of burnt demon flew in every direction ricocheting off the walls and electronic equipment and even spraying over Sammy's red Ray Ban-style sunglasses and the attached neon "Croakies" that draped over his reddish neck. When it was all over, Trent powered down the equipment and rushed to his friend Sammy's side. "Sammy, Are you okay?" Trent asked "Okay?! Didn't you hear me?" Sammy said as he wiped the dead demon from his glasses... "I was fucking phenomenal!" Both Trent Reznor and Sammy Hagar Laughed. The End. 
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