Your Bedtime Story is Scaring Everyone
Music has been a big part of my life. And by music, I most definitely mean metal. It’s also been a big influence on my writing, which is probably apparent as a line from Machine Head starts off Brightside and Slipknot lyrics kick off 25 Perfect Days. In addition to the impact on my novels, many of my short stories were sparked by songs, several of them sharing the title as my way of acknowledging the bands.
When I began writing, I’d always have music playing in the background. I didn’t understand just how influential the music could be, I just liked having it on. It wasn’t until I began the rewrite of Brightside that I realized this.
As I discussed in this post, there were three bands that played a big part in Brightside: Machine Head, Fear Factory, and Puscifer, each used for a different purpose. But there was another I was listening to a lot when Tom Spanbauer convinced me to switch Brightside from third person to first, something I’ll always be grateful for despite the extra years of work. The first scene to rework was the bedroom scene with Joe and his girlfriend, Rachel, who just ‘heard’ him dreaming of his ex. In the original it took place near the end of the book, in the revision it occurs first, setting the stage for these two telepaths that had been ripped from their lives and imprisoned in the beautiful internment camp.
The switch from third to first person is not simply switching ‘he’ to ‘I’ and it proved to be much harder than I anticipated. I went through several revisions and wasn’t able to find any music that helped. Finally I settled on an In Flames’ song with very little singing so it wouldn’t disturb me, then put it on repeat. The music seemed to work and I finished the scene just in time for my weekly video chat with Tom.
The scene had become way more sexual, angry, and disturbing. Rachel went from being a broken girl, ashamed of being exposed, to a psychotic mess who’d strapped Joe to the bed, threatening him and his manhood with a pair of razor sharp scissors. (Snips of the scene down below)
Tom said it was a pretty solid scene, but asked if that was the real story, is that what happened. It didn’t fit with what he’d read so far and I had to admit he was completely right. I’d written a disturbing short story that had no business in the book. Although the lyrics of the song don’t have anything to do with what I wrote, I couldn’t help but notice the title of the song was exactly what I’d written. “Your Bedtime Story is Scaring Everyone.” Whether it was my subconscious fixated on the title or simply the feeling the creepy music inspired, I couldn’t deny that it affected the story.
Now I’m much more aware of what music I listen to, especially when I’m creating. I try to match the music to the character’s frame of mind or type of scene. The faster the music, the quicker I’d write, throw on some old Slayer and shit is on. If things need to be deeper or darker, maybe I’ll put on some Sabbath. For my Norse mythology retelling, I’ll most definitely be rocking Amon Amarth and going with some lighter folk metal like Eluveitie for the softer scenes.
Pieces of the scary bedtime story scene:
Rachel kissed my neck softer. Then harder. Left side, then right. Because Ivy Leaguers don’t quit, they just keep trying and trying until they get what they want. Don’t care who gets fucking hurt.
And that’s when she used my line, said it so I’d know it was a lie. “Relax. Everything will be fine.”
I said nothing because Rachel burped Bacardi all over my neck, made me clench my stomach to barely hold down my dinner. Then she went back to kissing me like it didn’t still smell and I said, “Sexy.”
Rachel got right up in my face, so close I could barely see her, and said, “Jesus Christ,” like he had something to do with what was going on between us.
Her words covered my face like a pillow, made it hard to breathe. I’ll never forget that smell. The smell that said the last thing in her mouth wasn’t her toothbrush.
…
It was too dark to make out her face, but there was no question Rachel was enjoying seeing me chained up, all that black and nowhere to hide.
She chuckled, told me to relax. “They’re sheets, Hercules. Keep pulling like that and you’ll cut off the blood.”
I didn’t care about that so I kept at it, bed posts banging, tried to give an order she’d have to obey, wasn’t that surprised it came out like begging. “Get these fucking off me.”
Rachel put her hand on my cheek, left it there. She stayed calm, waited until I did, and asked, “What’s your rush?”
I changed tactics, kept it clean. This was my girlfriend, someone I should be able to trust. “Rachel, please get them off me.”
Her voice was spooky coming out of the dark, a black space moving where her mouth should be. “Do you still love her?”
I shook her hand off me and yelled, “Take these off now!”
Rachel waited a few seconds so I was really listening. Then real quiet, she said, “No.”
…..
Everything went silent, not a fucking sound anywhere beside my breath, my heart, my gulping all that saliva because it wouldn’t go down on its own. And then the tiniest screech, metal on metal as the scissors closed super slow, one, two, three seconds, then a brutal snap to say that’s it, guess what I just took off.
My neck was strained, but I couldn’t see her standing by the door seven feet away. I couldn’t see the door either, but that’s where she was doing the slow snip again and again, me just holding onto the sheets, not pulling on them because I had everything focused on that corner of that room, listening for any sound, waiting for her to pounce, give me what I deserved.
In all that black, I couldn’t see how big the scissors were, had no way of knowing where Rachel got them. I hoped she hadn’t brought them from home because that changed everything. I had small ones in the bathroom, but that snip was too long for those. Sounded just about right for the extra big pair I used for pizza. The pair that could pretty much cut through anything.
….
Rachel was just a shape in the darkness a safe six feet away. I couldn’t see her face, know what she was thinking. I tried to keep everything scared out of my voice and said, “This isn’t funny, Rachel.”
She chuckled liked she did whenever she told her stupid joke about how wrong it was that John was the Bobbitt everyone remembered, Lorena just some lunatic.
Rachel took another step, was still too far away to read.
The scissors did their thing and I almost prayed this was all a joke. Almost, because I don’t pray. I refuse to believe there’s someone up there that could make a difference. And if he is up there, then fuck him. I’m not praying to the prick who made me so special, let me fall in love with a lunatic, trust her with a key to my room.
I was on my own on this one. And that’s what scared the crap out of me, made me scream, “Turn on the lights! Turn them on!”
