Table of Contents

• Home
• Introduction
• Where Goths Come From - Neef
• The Watcher - Hobbes
• The Resurrection Shuffle - Barbarella
• Cassandra - Cosey Mo
• Drunken Old Bastard - Sandro
• Alcohol - Trayce
• Shadows - Entrippy
• Entropy - Kage-Ryu
• Is There A Point - Trajik
• Whispers - Kitsune
• Confessional - Sandro
• Garden - Entrippy
• Radio - Cam
• Cold Spell - Nikolai
• Slices - Neef
• A Bottle of Something Strong - Jraff
• The Light Fades - Tim
• Rain - Tim
• Self Help - Gothic Gallae
• Cato - Trajik
• Addiction/Fragment - Trayce
• Heal Thyself - Nikolai
• Shattered - Hobbes
• Travelling Song - Solitaire
• Distance - Stranger
• Legacy - Stranger

nikolai kingsley is currently studying literature at Deakin University as a means of avoiding a more productive lifestyle. He lives in the usenet newsgroup talk.bizarre. His favourite authors include Jane Austen, Frank Herbert, Enid Blyton and Poppy Z Brite; his favourite musicians include Skinny Puppy, the Cocteau Twins, Throbbing Gristle, Marilyn Manson and TISM. His favourite literary device is the Russian style sentence-that-goes-on-for-six-pages-without-a-breath. He is therefore obviously insane. Further proof of this can be seen at http://www.very.net/~nikolai .

send bug reports, passive voice criticism, barbie doll clothing patterns to nikolai@broadway.net.au

Cold Spell

"That looks spooky," Tara said as they entered the courtyard. She pointed to the Council retreat, a series of sprawling stone walls half-buried beneath a tangled mass of rocks and fallen trees, set half-way up the side of a Colorado mountain.

"Giles said it wasn't haunted or anything," Willow assured her, shrugging out of a backpack that was bigger than she was. "Those rocks landed there after some huge battle with some dark force that happened back in the thirties."

Tara closed her eyes briefly and nodded to herself. "How old is the building?"

"Well, Giles said it was here before the Pilgrims arrived, but he didn't say who built it. The Council has been using it as a kind of holiday house in the Hamptons for, like, forever. Except it's in Colorado." Willow stopped by the broken, rusted iron gate hinge and looked around. "Listen to that."

Tara cocked her head to listen. "I can't hear anything. Not even birds."

Willow grinned at her. "Perfect, isn't it?" She rummaged through her pack until she found a small rock about the size of a golf-ball, carved into the form of a reclining cat. She stepped up to the two-metre-tall oak doors and placed the figurine into a niche in the wall. A few seconds later, creaking machinery inside lurched into motion and the doors slowly opened inwards, sweeping twin arcs of dust from the stone floor. Willow took Tara's hand and led her inside. She removed the figurine from a matching niche inside; as the doors closed slowly, Tara glanced up at the gathering storm clouds. "Looks like snow," she murmured.

The retreat had seen better days; the curtains were starting to decay and the carpets were thickly layered with dust. All of the doors creaked; the doorknobs were made of ancient brown Bakelite and only one of the taps worked. Tara, who had some experience with plumbing in old buildings, let it run for ten minutes before they tried drinking the water.

They spent the afternoon practicing Tibetan chants, accompanied by drum music from some scratchy wax records played on a hand-cranked Victrola record player. It wasn't until the sun dropped below the tree-line that they discovered none of the lights worked. "I guess the Council didn't pay the electricity bill," Willow decided after checking the antique fuse-box.

"There's lots of candles. This shouldn't be a problem... should it?" Tara said as she gathered candelabra and arranged them on the huge wooden desk.

"Well, it can get pretty cold up here."

"We've got those sleeping bags that Xander loaned us." Just then, the sky darkened completely and it started raining. They exchanged worried glances. Tara lit a candle and put away the records. "I'll check out the firewood situation."

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