In Gloom

All is quiet on the frontal lobe. The denizens of the bog glide through the will-o’-the-wisps, glowing eyes cut through the fog like a hot blade through coagulated arteries. There in the marsh, a creature lies dormant. A throbbing amalgam of impossible shapes that modern science deems to be a bone structure, pustules extruding ochre fluids to be reclaimed by the fields of poison it treads. It is through this cursed soil that 6 men saunter through weed and web with trepidation and reverence. In Gloom they call themselves, and what they seek is pure sonic terror. They happen upon the beast. The horrible venom tipped spines upon its back threaten to pierce the atmosphere. As it turns to face them, its bones crackle and shift like tectonic plates. In Gloom beholds the creature’s unholy majesty ‘This is disgusting, its pornography’ ‘No, this is beautiful, this is art. This is what we came for’ It gets on all fours and transfixes its wicked gaze upon the men. Its fleshy maw sways in the burning winds, rows of jagged razors used for masticating its prey praying for another meal. Its chest begins to glow and heave as its putrid lungs prepare to emit a deafening shriek of terror. The bravest among the men raises a microphone and hits record. Swamp Shit available to stream now.