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Lizard's Pill
(c)2007 by Mike Dunbar



After the show, the roadies were breaking down the band equipment. Tommy got up his nerve and walked over to Lizard, the lead guitar player. Lizard was the best Death Metal guitar player Tommy had ever heard. He made the other ones sound like beginners. Lizard's chords where like wind moaning through the graveyard. His leads were like the screams of children being tortured, and his rhythms were like rotting corpses clawing at their caskets.

"Mr. Lizard?" Tommy said.

“Get a-way from me you little toad," Lizard was in a good mood. "or I'll jab this guitar string into your eyeball."

Tommy wouldn't budge. "Mr. Lizard, would you give me a guitar lesson?"

Lizard spat on the floor. "Lick that up and I'll give you a lesson."Tommy slowly knelt down. He stuck out his tongue and bent closer to the greenish and white gob of phlegm that was sitting on the floor mixing with the sweat of the dancers and the dirt from their shoes.

"Wait a minute." Lizard had a sad expression on his face. "Do you
really want me to give you a guitar lesson that bad?"

"Yes sir." Tommy looked up and repeated, "YES SIR!"

"Then lick it up real slow. And do a good job."

Tommy bent back down toward the lone loogie. As he scooped it up with his tongue he was surprised that it had a sharp taste, probably tobacco, mixed with the familiar flavor one gets when snuffling from a headcold. The hocker was unexpectedly hard to swallow, being so slick and slimy, but Tommy got it down after a couple of tries.

"OK," Lizard said, "Come with me."Lizard handed Tommy his guitar and crooked his finger toward the dressing room. Tommy was pumped. A lesson from Lizard. The kids in Fred's basement would crap. Tommy would be the local Death Metal King.The rest of Lizard's band was already in the backroom. Lizard walked over to an old, dirty couch by the wall. The drummer was sitting there with a young girl who had been dancing close to the stage. He saw Lizard coming and got immediately up, pulling the girl with him.


Lizard just sat down withoug missing a stride."Sit over here, Tommy." Lizard smiled.

"How did you know my name?" Tommy asked.

"You don't ask me questions, toad, I ask you questions. Take this guitar, and if you drop it, I'll have the Creep break one of your fingers."

Tommy looked over to his right to see a big biker looking dude with a shaved head and an obvious glass eye smiling back at him. "Hi Mr. Creep." He said. Oh boy, this was getting better."You want to see what I can do?" Tommy asked.

"Ask me another question and I'll hurt you." Lizard said in a whisper. "You're now going to do things you could never do before."Lizard reached into his pocket and pulled out a small brass box. There was some kind of writing on it, but Tommy couldn't make it out. Lizard opened the box and very carefully took out a green pill. The way some things seem to have a glow, this pill seemed to have the opposite. It was like it sucked the light out of the air. "Open wide," Lizard said.

Tommy opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue like he did when he was an altar boy at St. Michael's church. Man, if the nuns could see him now, they'd faint. The pill was cold on his tongue, but spicy hot. Tommy swallowed. It had a sweet after taste, but his tongue burned along the path to his throat and Tommy could feel the pill burn all the way down to his stomach. A sudden tiredness came over him. He tried to move but couldn't as his whole body tingled. The hairs on his back stood up and he felt a crawling feeling. His whole body felt like it had centipedes in it, crawling and itching. Tommy wanted to scratch all over, but he couldn't move.

Then there was a flash.

Tommy jumped up and started playing the guitar. It wasn't plugged in, there was no amp, but it was so loud the band and the entourage had to cover their ears. Lizard just smiled. Tommy jumped up on the couch and screamed, "Take that you old, dried up old man, take that...and that." Tommy locked eyes with Lizard as his fingers darted up and down the guitar neck like a spider on a hot grid. The notes screamed and moaned. The whole room was throbbing, the walls expanded and contracted with each phrase. Soon the band and their groupies, the bodyguards and the road manager, everyone was on their feet dancing and gyrating like some zombie ritual. Lizard laughed. After a wild hour long solo, Tommy took off the guitar, hoisted it over his head and smashed it down on the concrete floor of the back room. The room went silent, save for a few whimpers and sounds of shock. Tommy looked at Lizard. Lizard slowly stood up and walked up to the boy, he held his hands out toward him...and began clapping. "Hail to the new Death Metal King. It's Tommy...Tommy Toad...King of the Death Metal Guitar." The room exploded in applause. "Hail to Tommy...Hail to Tommy Toad."


Tommy couldn't remember getting home. He woke up fully dressed. It was Saturday morning. They could meet at Fred's basement right after breakfast.
Fred's folks went to the mountains on the weekend and let Fred stay at the house so he and the band could practice.

Tommy ran downstairs and kissed his mom. "Where are you going? I didn't want to wake you. Where are you going now?"

"Going to Fred's" Tommy said, he ran out then ran back in, charged up the stairs and got his guitar. "I forgot this, we might stay at Fred's, Bye!"

"Call," his mother shouted as he flew out the door.Fred was still asleep when Tommy got there.

"Come on, we gotta jam." Tommy was wild. Fred called Mike and John and Iggy, and soon they were wheeling in amps, keyboards and drums. Shortly everyone was set up. Fred started pounding out a beat and the band fell into a groove. John got up to the microphone and started screaming his anthem about murder and death, "The Devil's Doorway." Then, Tommy cut loose. The basement shuddered. A fog seemed to creep into the room. Lights flashed. Tommy's guitar howled like an injured cat. It snarled like a pit bull. The rest of the band played like they were possessed, and indeed they were. Tommy seemed older, his flesh looked pocked and wrinkled. His eyes were yellow and bloodshot and his veins raised up and pounded along with the beat.

Song after song, they played until their fingers bled. After each one ended, Fred, Mike, John and Iggy squealed with delight and Tommy just started the next one. Mike begged them to let him record it, so they took a short break while he set up the portable digital recorder.

"Man," said Iggy, "We're gonna be famous, we're playing like demons.

"Tommy sneered. "You mean I am, you little punk."

Iggy hung his head and looked up at Tommy over his glasses. "Yeah, Tommy, I mean you are."

Mike recorded the rest of the jam, he was crazy with excitement. "This'll get a grammy, they'll play it all over the radio!!!"

The band laughed, but Tommy just looked at them with his eyes like slits."Of course they will. " he said, then put away his guitar and quickly left.

What do you suppose got into Tommy?" Fred asked.

"I don’t know and I don't care, man, I don't care, just as long as he plays like that." Iggy answered.

"How about tomorrow?" Mike said.

"Tomorrow's Sunday, I got church." John replied.

"Screw that, we gotta jam, this is too much, we gotta jam. I'll call Tommy." The whole band agreed to meet the next morning.

Next morning Tommy arrived late, the band was set up.

“Man you won't believe it!" Fred told him, "Last night Mike played the recordings for a radio guy he knew, the guy flipped and he's gonna introduce us to a label exec next Friday."

"All right," Tommy said, "but he didn't sound that enthused.

The band started a song, soon it was time for Tommy to play a lead. He sounded like he was playing country music, or maybe bluegrass. Not only didn't it groove, it was quiet and a little out of tune. The band was staring at him, gradually everyone stopped playing.

"Come on, man, start jamming, don't play that crap." said Iggy. They played another one. This time Tommy sounded like Fred's grandmother's vinyl records of Lawrence Welk. It was enough to gag a maggot.

"What's the matter with you, dude, you sound awful. We've got a big audition Friday, you wanna screw it up?"

"Don't worry guys, I...I just don't feel too good. I'll be alright by Friday, I gotta go now, I'll be alright by Friday." Tommy left the band feeling a little worried. He knew what he had to do.


Monday morning, Tommy called Lizard.

"Mr. Toad! How's the King of Death Metal? Where'd you get my number? Never mind, you'd find me if I moved to Antarctica now, wouldn't you?" and he laughed a sickening laugh.

"Mr. Lizard, we've got a big audition Friday, I need one of those pills."

"I'll bet you do." said the Lizard, "Well I've got a little box full of them. My little box is always full of them, but you've got to do something for me, Toad, and it won't be pleasant like the last time, and it won't stop there unless you want it to, and even then, the only way you can stop is by working for me."


Friday came. The band was worried, but they tried to not let it show. Tommy was late and Mike's radio friend and his contact with the label were visibly irritated.

In strolled Tommy carrying his guitar.

"Am I late? Too bad. I dare you to not offer me a contract you worm." Before the label executive could get out a word, Tommy started a guitar riff that pinned him and the radio guy to their seats. The band fell right in and soon the fog crept into the basement. The music was unearthly, inhuman, it had a life of its own, if life is the right word, it was more like a living death.

The radio man wanted to pray, but his words stuck in his throat. The label executive swore he could see his dead mother in the corner of the room. They both wanted to run, but they jumped to their feet and began to dance. They danced with each other, taking turns, one swinging the other over their heads and through their legs like a sock hop of the damned. The radio man began to vomit in the corner and the label executive wet himself. They both sobbed and begged Tommy to continue, finally crawling across the floor and kissing his hands. The music stopped and Tommy smiled. "You're going to give me
whatever I want."

"Oh yes, anything, anything, just please be on our label"

"And I'll play all your songs, whatever you want, we'll play you all day."

The band jumped up and down. Fred, Mike, John, and Iggy were overtaken with glee. Their dreams and hopes were coming true.

Tommy sneered and left.


Later on, as they drove off, the label exec remarked to the radio guy, "He's perfect...Tommy Toad...what a great image…and that weird glass eye!”