Today’s Music’s Box submission is from my good buddy Andrew Shaw. Andrew submitted a story for my last blog project about the Lizard Man from Scape Ore Swamp. He’s a published comics writer and a damn good one. This time, he’s back with a great re-imagining of one of my favorite Bruce Springsteen tracks.

Andrew chose “Atlantic City”, one of only two singles from his 1982 album Nebraska. And UK only singles at that. “Atlantic City” paints the picture of a gritty town full of corruption. The way Springsteen sings it, it’s a dystopian town. The way Andrew takes it though, is amazing. He attaches his story to a couple of lyrics and turns it into a horror classic, fully of gritty noir and some special people looking to even the score. It’s brilliant.

“Atlantic City”

By Andrew Shaw

The smell was the first thing that hit him.

Joey had been the main “removalist” for the Carpone family for 5 years now. He took over the job from his father, once the old man become too decrepit to swing a shovel anymore. Joey was 36, no family, no other ties. His mother had died not long after his 21^st birthday, a message to his father from the Tortino family.

Joey patted the freshly moved dirt on the grave. The shovel he carried was light but sturdy, a valuable tool of his trade. Not unlike the sawn-off shotgun he kept under the driver’s seat of his car, a present from his father. He bent to pick up the pick and plastic wrap he used during business, when he smelt it. The smell of death was something that he knew well, but this was older, mustier, something that really shouldn’t be above ground.

The swamp outside of Atlantic City was home to many creatures, but probably holds more bodies than anything else. This was where, if you wanted something to disappear, it would stay that way. The alligators and other flesh-eating beasts took care of that. Joey had lost track, over the five years, as to how many people he had buried in the swamp. He was never that great at numbers, which was why he wasn’t one of the top earners, like Frank Carpone, the boss’ son. But he’d taken care of enough of Frankie’s mistakes, to know his place in the family was never in doubt.

Something moved off to his left. A squelching noise, like the sound of a water-logged shoe, came from the same direction. Joey turned his torch in that direction. Nothing but bugs, and a startled lizard that darted off towards the water. The sound came again, this time to his right. Joey spun, disorientated for a second, moving too quick to keep his feet. He fell, landing on his shoulder, feeling something crunch, then sharp pain shooting down his arm. Joey lay there, the pain almost blinding him. The noise came again, this time closer.  SQUELCH. SQUELCH. SQUELCH. The smell became stronger, making Joey screw up his nose, his eyes watered.

The torch had fallen just out of arms reach, but the light was still on. Combined with his car headlights, the area was fairly well lit, enough to see the pair of mud covered shoes standing about a metre from his head. Joey looked up, his eyes taking in the suit, falling apart from years of being buried.   As he laid eyes on the face, he realised who it was. The missing eye, where Joey had put a bullet, announced it was Tommy Fasolo. Tommy was Joey’s first hit, and also the first he’d buried in the swamp.

“JOOOOOOOEYYYYYYYY”

The name came from the back of the creature throat, sounding like it was trying to break through mud and worms. Part of Tommy’s jaw was visible, and his once dapper hair, was now straggly and thin. Tommy slowly shuffled forward, slime and muck falling off with every step, leaving an awful smelling trail behind him.

“JOOOOOOOEYYYYYYY”

Joey scrambled to his feet. He reached for the pistol he always kept at his lower back, held there by his belt. There was nothing there. The gun must’ve slipped out when he fell. Realising he didn’t have a chance standing his ground against this creature, Joey turned to run. He had only taken two steps, when he skidded to his knees, smashing his right leg into a rock. He felt something crack, and pain made him close his eyes for just a moment, seeing stars. Two more shambling creatures were coming out of the swamp towards him. These weren’t as decomposed as Tommy, but the smell was just as bad. Joey looked, but couldn’t really make out who they were. He’d killed enough people for at least a couple to have slipped his mind. They reached for him, arms outstretched. One of the creatures was missing several fingers on one hand, probably bitten off by some kind of reptile.

Tommy was getting closer, the squelching of his water-logged feet getting louder.

“JOOOOOOOEYYYYYYY”

Joey tried to get up, but his right knee buckled underneath him. Crawling, he turned from the two monsters slowly moving towards him, but his face came into contact with Tommy’s leg. The impact left a mixture of rotting flesh, and swamp mud on Joey’s face. That was enough. Joey screamed and passed out.

As Joey came to, he was being dragged. He looked up, and made out the two creatures, each holding a shoulder, moving him deeper into the swamp. Tommy walked behind, at Joey’s feet. Joey tried to kick lose, thrashing his legs and arms, but they held him tighter, their rotting hands digging deeper into the skin of his shoulders. Joey noticed the water rising around him, as they dragged him deeper, down into the water.

“No, NOOOO!” he screamed, the water rising, seeping into his mouth, making him cough and splutter. All three monsters were now waist deep in the water, the murkiness hiding what was underneath. Joey’s head was only just visible, having raised his chin, keeping his mouth and nose above the water. He took one last gasp of precious oxygen, as he was finally dragged under.

Joey kept his eyes open. The swamp was deep. He watched Tommy through the murky water, the only eye left in his rotted head stared back, not wavering from Joey. His mouth, though decomposed, was stretched in a macabre grin. Joey’s chest started to burn, he’d have to take a breath soon. He decided to kick again, but, as if he knew what Joey was thinking, Tommy grabbed his feet in a vice grip, holding them steady.

Joey finally relented, he opened his mouth. The water gushed in, filling his lungs, choking him. Joey watched Tommy, his grin seemed to almost widen.

The darkness rushed towards Joey.

 ******

“Everything dies baby, that’s a fact,

But, everything that dies someday comes back.”

Bruce Springsteen,

Atlantic City.