That night, as I lay in bed trying to sleep in my dark bedroom, my mind kept replaying the events from earlier in the evening. There I was at karaoke, daring to sing “Mad Her Lovely” by The Roods. My performance did not go over well with the audience, which is normally tolerant of bad singers like myself. Everyone has deep respect and sympathy for The Roods, who had just lost lead singer Morris Jameson to a drug overdose after the song was released. Having lost the driving force behind their success, the band decided to break up. Since then, no one dared to sing “Mad Her Lovely” on karaoke night unless they could perform it exactly like The Roods did. Little did I realize that I had violated an invisible law of karaoke. I kept trying to shake off that disastrous performance but it just wouldn’t go away.
Then I heard the slow creaking of a door opening, followed by slow, heavy footsteps. Next I could smell a horrific smell far worse than anything awful I ever smelled, worse than rotting meat, worse than raw sewage, worse than death itself. I also heard a heavy, shallow breathing as I began to sense I was no longer alone in my bedroom. I slowly reached for the light on my nightstand, terrified at what I was about to see.
I turned on the light and got the shock of my life. Standing before my bed was a rotting corpse dressed in muddy, tattered clothes with its bony face staring at me through shrunken eyeballs. Patches of long hair barely clung to the scalp as the corpse stood, leaning slightly to one side, arms dangling while trembling in anger.
“HOW DARE YOU DESECRATE MY SONG!” screamed Morris Jameson.
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