Rocky Horror Fan Fiction

" Handyman's Nightmare Dream " by Bill Brennan

Dawn was creeping up over the deep forests just outside the small town of Denton, USA. The birds were starting to chirp, the warming rays of Earth's primary sun were turning the dew to mist, and it was time for the household to sleep.

Frank was in his bedroom, stripped to the waist with a hookah stem in his fingers. He placed one arm around the black satin pillow with an "R" on it and pulled it to him, hugging it close as he would a lover, or a child. Magenta was dozing off, her almost-closed eyes looking over the deeply sleeping (and slightly snoring) figure of Columbia.

Upstairs in the lab "slept" a mass of tissue and protoplasm that was dimly aware of light, movement and gravity, the most rudimentary functions of a near-grown brain, floating there in the tank of semi-amniotic fluid. And Riff Raff? He walked down, down past the wine cellar, down past the deep stairs that were dug out of the very Earth itself. He came to a wooden door and opened it. Inside was a small room, a single torch burning on the wall, and crawled into the shallow grave cut into the floor. He turned over, covered his face with one arm, and went to sleep.

And dreamed...

And dreamed. In his dream he was in the castle, walking about in slow motion, as if he were moving through invisible glue. He spied the castle, looking here and there, as if he were seeing it for the first time. He came to the lobby, and there was his sister, Magenta, leaning against the stair banister. She had a vacant expression on her face, torpid...and it was also kind of sad, he observed. Yes, sad.

Columbia was next, as Riff suddenly found himself looking down at her from an elevated position. She was asleep herself, slumped up against the freezer door, her tears frozen in ice on the door itself.

And then came a sound, from the lab, crashing glass and muttered curses. Riff walked up to the lab, the sound of destruction getting louder. He peeked through a hole in the wall, a hole that wasn't there in reality, but would be someday when a wheelchaired man crashed through it.

He looked down at the lab, and saw what looked like himself as seen from the rear. The tank was smashed, the fluid and tissue inside splashed out all over the floor. Also on the floor were the bodies of Frank N Furter and Columbia, both with charred black wounds on the chest. In one corner, on her knees (a VERY unnatural position for her) was Magenta. She looked at her brother as he smashed more test tubes, cursed, and kicked and screamed and fretted. Riff, the Riff with his back turned to the dreaming Riff, stopped and paused, as if he knew that he was being watched. He let his hands fall to his sides and seemed to relax a bit. He slowly turned, and when he was done the dreaming-Riff was filled with horror, intrigue, and dreaded fascination: The other Riff was a monster. Half his hair was gone, fallen out. His eyes burned with anger, deep black with just a glint-a small glint-of red. His skin looked sickened, wrong. His breath came in shallow gasps and he could hear fluid, bubbling fluid, in his lungs. And an eerie, frightening calmness came over the other-Riff's face. He leaned over and looked the dream Riff right in the eyes and gave a slight shrug and said,<.p>

"Well, now you know."

And the next day Riff would be especially quiet and moody, knowing that something important had happened. And meanwhile, a small church opened, and the caretaker and his wife and his daughter met the preacher and prepared for the wedding that would take place there later that morning.

La Danse avec Les Morts
(Dance with the Dead)

By Scorpion

They were nearing orbit on Transsexual. She could feel the shift in the ship's trajectory. She sighed deeply, and got up from the bed. Her uniform was gone, cold and wrinkled on the floor. Her hair was unbound, hanging in a damp red nimbus around her smeared make up. She felt worn and tiered. She was unwilling to do what she knew she must. She ignored the clothes he had told her to wear and instead donned an old faded chemise and the matching skirt, frayed and tattered, dirty white in colour. She took the small black purse that Riff-Raff had gotten for her on Earth. She found Eddie's Beretta pistol among Columbia's old things. She sighed again, bit her lip to keep from crying.

Out in the hall it was cold and dim. The icy draft played around her bare feet like her Earthen dogs had. The thought made her shiver.

She opened the door to the control room. He had his back to her, and she watched him a moment. 'He's so thin.'' She thought. 'How weak and frail he looks. Like a little baby..."

A skinny whiny puking baby. She could find no other description for the sickly monkey-like thing that lay in the basket before her. She stretched out her chubby hand and poked it. It squalled. She knew it would. How could something so gross demand so much attention? She reached to poke it again, but was stopped by the tender hand of her mother.

"Now, now Magenta," she said, lifting the toddler into her lap. "You mustn't do that to your brother. He's just little." She looked at the infant again; he had drifted off into a deep mindless sleep.

"Vhat's you gonna name 'im, Muma?" she demanded. At least she should know the name of her competitor. Her mother laughed, her sightless eyes roaming the air. "Riff-Raff."

She looked down at the sleeping baby again "Viff-Vaffs is reah yucky," she stated at last, and crossed her fat arms to stop all argument. Her mother laughed again, even her filmed-over eyes conveyed amusement. "Yucky he may be but he is your brother, Magenta. And you must alvays love him and care for him. For someday he vill be all you have in this vorld..."

She didn't notice him turn to face her. "Magenta?" She snapped out of her reverie. The muted purplescence of the planet melted into the half-light of the cockpit. He looked strange, his features distorted and his eyes gleamed like fever. She started and pulled back. "Why are you dressed like that?" His voice rose to that familiar angry pitch, a sign of his impending rage. She drew back even further into the recess of the door. He got up. His body was unnaturally contorted, his limbs sprang out at odd angles. She remembered the queen's instructions: If he kills then so must you.

"Magenta?!" His fury building. Now, do it now! she thought. Her arms felt like lead at her sides. Heavy and useless. He was coming at her, hand in a fist. Sharp pain blossomed across her temple.

She was first aware of the sticky warmth that ran into her eyes and down her face, oozing into her hair. She sat up again, dizzy and nauseous. He had his back to her again, fiddling with the controls. He was telling someone that it was OK to board. She staggered to her feet, nearly vomiting in her struggle to stay up. She pulled the pistol from her bag.

"Riffy?" The hammer clicked and he turned to look her. "I'm sorry, " she whispered, tears blurring her sight. "But you did this to yourself." She pulled the trigger. One. Two. Three. He was dead at her feet.

Her feet were cold. She remembered an old saying that the Death-Cold crept up from one's feet. Her stomach ached, throat tight with the taste of bile, there was a nagging pinch on her shoulder. Cold, cold, cold. She thought. I'm dying. This is the Death-Cold come to take me. Riff-Raff, Frank, Columbia, Eddie, Rocky, vait for me! I'm coming vith you... The pain in her shoulder intensified. She shook her head, reluctantly coming back to reality. A strange voice above her, cool and hard. "Yes my Queen. The traitor is dead, but I am afraid it is too late for your son." Silence stretched out. "Yes, the agent is alive but she is wounded and we're not sure how badly." Another pause. "Can you walk?" She curled up into a ball on the floor, sobbing hard and wishing for death. Cold, cold, cold. He picked her up, her darkness descended, and he bore her off.

She woke with the feeling of water. A warm damp cloth wiping away the sticky, congealed blood. She heard somebody moan, she couldn't be sure who. Her eyes opened and a familiar face loomed into focus, the Queen's marble face rising above her. "Ah, so you are awake at last." Magenta stared blankly up at the Old Queen. Her body was small and lean as a mummy, but she was still beautiful. Her face still a pale euphoric mask and her black hair so long it swept the floor behind her. Just as lovely and terrible and ancient as the night itself.
.....

For the rest of the story, as well as coverage of the Rocky Horror Show in Texas, Pennsylvania, California (5 fan reviews), a cast bio of the Montreal cast and more, order issue 52.

INFERNO

Riff Raff thought it would be easy. All he had to do was use his laser to simulate burns and damage from an "overloaded power reactor input." It would be the perfect cover—the PRI blew up, killing Frank, Rocky, Eddie and Columbia. A dent in the walls here, a smear of blood there, and the illusion would be complete. It wasn’t the first murder Riff had had to cover up. He didn’t know it, but it would be his last.

His "final touch" was to take some of the genetic material ("the stuff," as he referred to it), and toss it up in the air. He drew his blaster and fired. The stuff was directly hit, and flash-burned into oblivion. The residue would coat the walls, and it would be exactly what would have happened to someone caught in the blast.

Now all he had to do would be go home, tell his story, and no one could prove that anything criminal took place, even if they did suspect.

He knew he would be found innocent of any wrong-doing.

"Guilty!" came the words of the New Queen. Riff couldn’t believe it! The Old Queen, the monarch that favored Frank, had never trusted Riff. She had had spy cameras placed all over the castle, undetectable to anyone that didn’t know they were there. The recordings were played over, not only in the palace Royal but also on every TV and public viewscreen on all of the planet. The entire population of Transexual saw Riff Raff gun down Frank N. Furter in cold blood. Crowds numbering in the thousands attacked and rioted at the Royal Prison, screaming for Riff’s head. They didn’t get the chance—Riff was taken directly form the Royal chamber to the executioner’s block. On the way his lawyer informed him that he had been sentenced to death by hanging, found guilty, and given a fair trial. In that exact order.

The hangman didn’t even wait for Riff to clear the last step as he rushed to place the noose around his scrawny neck.

"Any last words?" the hangman said, and immediately pulled the switch. No one heard the choked-off words that almost escaped Riff’s lips before his neck snapped like a twig. Those words were: "I’m sorry."

Riff woke up, and had no idea where he was. He also had no idea IF he was. He had no body. He looked down, and only saw what he saw when he looked in any direction: nothing. Just an eternity of gold haze: not smoke, just a haze-like effect, as if it was a huge container that stretched off forever, and that he was in the center of.

Ideas bounced through his head. Was this Hell? Was he dead? Was it all a mad delusion?

Time passed. Riff ran, thousands of miles, invisible legs running in place and getting nowhere. He screamed and had not voice. He cried without shedding tears. He thought, and grew more and more panicked, and one countless time later he suddenly screamed, "For God’s sake, please let me out!"

And he fell flat on his back with a "whump!" He sat up, feeling the hard pebbles on his behind. Hot, stinking air filled his lungs, and he looked down to see his own two feet! He laughed and hugged himself and rolled on the ground, happy to be alive! Happy to just be!

"Uh, ahem," said a voice from behind him. A voice he knew!

"Brad!" Riff hissed and crouched back like a cat. Yes, it was Brad Majors, still wearing his white lab coat and T-shirt and underwear with socks and black shoes. That’s when it hit Riff: he was still in his butler’s uniform. Why? He looked around for the first time, and realized that he had no idea where he was. It was certainly nowhere he had ever been before. The air stank, for one, with the scent of iron and salt. It was familiar, to be sure. He smacked his lips when it came to him. It was blood. The air was scented with blood. He took in what he could see with his eyes: mountains, impossibly tall. He was in a valley. He was on a path, a narrow path, and on either side of that path were millions and millions of bottles, bottles of all sizes and shapes, all colored a uniform yellow. The path led away from a huge, huge heap of bottles, and off into the horizon.

"Where am I?" Riff asked.

"They always ask that first," Brad commented. "Would you believe that you are in Hell?"

"Hell. And why are you here, Brad?" Riff Raff asked.

"I’m your guardian angel. I’ve been assigned to bring you out of there, that is, if you are ready." Brad smiled that goofus smile of his and Riff became annoyed.

What was it? he thought. Psychological torture? More punishment from Her Majesty? Or was it an actual con trick, with the human brought in to assist?

"No, really, this IS Hell. Let me explain. A lot of time has passed since you died, Riff Raff. A LOT of time. Everyone else: Columbia, Eddie, Frank, even Magenta have all found peace in Heaven. You’re the only one left. You were the worst."

"And YOU are here to help me find peace?" Riff sneered.

"I am."

"Why?"

"Your sister asked me to." That made Riff pause. His sister, Magenta. His love. The last time he saw her was at the courtroom: black tears ran down her silent face as he was dragged away.

"I don’t believe you," said Riff. He hated the human more than ever.

"I didn’t think you would. No one believes it. Janet and I didn’t believe it when we woke up in Heaven, but there we were."

Riff stopped and cocked his ear to one side, listening. He heard something, a far-off buzz that was somewhat familiar.

"What is that sound?" he asked.

"Millions of people screaming. This IS Hell. Now, let’s go. The sooner we begin, the sooner we get to Heaven. Are you ready?" Brad smiled.

"Heaven? Which direction?"

"Down, always down, to the center of Hell. That’s where the exit is. Now, let’s go. We have all the time we need, but the sooner the better."

And Brad started to walk. He stopped, waiting for Riff. Riff shrugged and walked after him. The human had knowledge, knowledge he would need if he was to escape this place. He would stay with Brad, and learn what he could.

So Brad and Riff Raff, Terran and Transylvanian, started the long walk down the path and out of the Valley, towards the center of Hell.

TO BE CONTINUED…