English Goth by Nick Armbrister

A story of people who fall for each other after meeting at a club’s goth night.

First published by Written Expressions in 2010.

​From the author:

Like any other lifestyle, being a goth is a personal choice. There are individuals who identify as goth or alternative. They can be office workers or truck drivers, male or female, straight, bi, gay or any other. They may have friends in the scene or be alone. They get enjoyment and belonging, become fans of the music, poetry, stories, films, architecture and more. This story is about two people who choose to be goth/alternative. Both meet and become friends. This is a story for everyone. Barriers need not exist. Art is art.

Listen to the author read his work:

Diane was no ordinary English lady. With red and black hair that was oh so beautiful like her face, she was a goth, one with the night, who loved what she was into. It was her life, and nothing came close to it, not even guys whom she frequently met in her young twenty-four years. She lived in the historical English town of Langford in the north of England. It wasn’t a big place, just large enough so people didn’t know her business. After all, Diane was a private gal.

Diane worked in the local printing factory making blueprints for missiles, a topic that bored her. The cash was good, allowing her to go out and be footloose and fancy-free. That suited her. On Mondays, Diane went to the Right Drunkard club that had dance night; she liked gothic music from England’s past. Bands like the Cult, the Mission, All About Eve, the Sisters of Mercy, and Ghost Dance. Diane was into ’80s goth music but was born at the wrong time to see her favourite bands live when they were young and vibrant.

Wearing a stunning, sensual short black number—a dress made of layered flowing fabric with sequins and black flower embroidery—Diane showed off her shapely legs well above the knee, especially when she sat down. She chose a table on the balcony bar overlooking the dance floor on the lower level; here she got a good view of guys and gals dancing and jiving to the best ’80s alternative music in the world. A heavy pulsating rhythm bumped out of the speakers, and she found herself nodding her head slowly to it and singing along to a song that spoke of a failed romance and of loneliness and death. Yet the song’s rhythm was uplifting and offered a heady rush.

She lifted her Bloody Mary to her lips and took a generous mouthful, feeling the alcohol rush into her body, warming her up. She’d finish this drink then go dancing. She wanted the good vibe of the music to overtake her as it did the other dancers who were loving it, having the time of their lives. She downed her drink and got up to join them, making her way down the dark winding stairs to the dance floor. As she got there, the record changed to a heavier, slower song with a loud bassline and screaming guitar and loud vocals.

Diane danced around, waving her arms and smiling like a cat that got the cream as some people left the floor; this song wasn’t for them. It was for Diane.

Then she bumped into a lad who turned to look at her and smile. She gently held his arm before he moved out of reach and brought him towards her as the rhythm of the music gave them all a life of their own.

She faced the boy who was only eighteen and pulled him closer so they were touching; she smiled mischievously then kissed him slowly, her tongue passing his delicate pale lips and probing inside to meet his tongue that finally touched hers. He closed his eyes and melted into Diane. She supported his weight and closed her eyes, enjoying the moment as the song pounded on in a slow mesmerising beat.

The song wound down, and the pair still kissed in their close embrace. Suddenly, a faster guitar-driven track came over the speakers. The DJ spun the discs, and the boy pulled away, withdrawing his tongue from Diane’s mouth to end their coupling. He went to find his friends.

She turned and slowly walked in a wavy line across the dance floor in the other direction to buy a drink in the lower bar. She still tasted the teenager on her warm, moist lips. Looking up and down the bar, she made eye contact with the barman and ordered a screwdriver—double vodka and fresh orange juice and ice in a half-pint glass. After paying him and thanking him, she walked around the club, which was rapidly filling up with happy young customers.

She walked round the club to check the talent out, wanting to score. It had been three long weeks since she had been naughty and made love to anyone.

Tonight she wanted it more than ever, with a nice man who was like her—a goth. One of the dark ones who lived in a twilight world of long shadows and poignant music.

Then she saw him. He was standing by a stone pillar, watching people dance to the loud music. Unaware that he himself was being watched, the hunter becoming the hunted.

Diane walked over, sipping her strong drink and feeling the alcohol rush to her head and warm her insides up. She wasn’t shy. Being out on her own had its own risks, especially if she was a bit forward, but no worries.

Here we go!

Diane stopped next to the man, who was still watching the dance floor. She spoke, “Hi there, how are you? I’m Diane.”

“Hello, Dark Princess of the Night, nice to meet you. I’m fine,” replied the tall, dark stranger. He turned to look at the gothic beauty standing before him, who blushed ever so slightly. This he noticed and smiled reassuringly so she wouldn’t turn and run in embarrassment.

“And nice to meet you…” Diane paused. The man hadn’t introduced himself. “I’ve not seen you here before,” she finished.

“Oh, I’m Liam. Sorry, I’m always doing that! And yes, I moved to town just two weeks ago. I missed last month’s Goth Night here due to that. I must say, I’m enjoying it!” Liam said over the music. He opened his arms and motioned to the dance floor that was full of people. “It’s a good club, isn’t it? I’ve been into this music for many years, probably before you were born!” he laughed.

Diane went even redder, thinking to herself if she was doing the right thing, approaching an older man. It was too late now! She managed a smile. “Wow, that long? You don’t know my age. I could be a young-looking thirty-five.”

“Well, my dear Diane, age is only a number, and I don’t mind how old you are ’coz you look stunning and are a real gothic queen, really you are. I can tell you like this music and are not just one of the hangers who just looks the part.”

“No, I love this music. All of the ’80s goth music, some metal and much more besides. I have many of the albums, and I’ve seen the bands I could when they performed a few years ago. Have you been to any gigs then?”

“Oh yeah, Diane, I’ve been to many gigs. I’ve lost count of how many. Must be over a thousand gigs over my years. Both big bands and small bands that just did one show before splitting up. Maybe I should write a book on it one day…” Liam reminisced, staring into space, no doubt remembering those heady times.

“Hey, do you wanna dance, or are you gonna stand there all night? Come on!” Diane insisted, grabbing Liam’s hand as he still thought about the old days and gigs and more.

He followed her through the crush of people dancing and swaying this way and that on the packed floor. A new track came on; a stomping drum machine pulsated as a wicked guitar riff kicked out of the speakers. When the vocals started—a woman with a stunningly soaring voice—the crowd went crazy. A life force of energy flowed, and they loved every minute of it. Liam was pushed into Diane so they danced chest to chest as more people filled the dance floor. The song continued in a heavenly rush.

Dancers moved this way and that, though hardly able to move their arms fully. They jostled Diane, so she was nearly carried away from Liam. She let out a yell in surprise. Liam held out his hands and steadied Diane, holding her around her waist and by her left elbow so she wouldn’t be stolen from him by the crowd again.

He smiled, and she looked him right in the eyes. Right then, she knew that his intentions were honourable and genuine. She returned his smile and gently placed her right hand on his neck to tilt his head down; she kissed him on the lips. Had a line been crossed?

The song, an industrial one, still throbbed from the speakers. It must have been an extended remix of the original track, and everyone buzzed from it. Hundreds of people moved as one on the dance floor, enjoying what to them was heaven. How could it ever be better than this? For two people who had just met, it was even better. Something was happening, something magical right here and now, a spell so powerful it would never be broken. Out of nothing came something.

Another song by a different band came on as the DJ faded the previous one out. The crowd slackened somewhat, but neither Diane nor Liam wanted to break the spell that bewitched them both. They had a special moment that came only once in a person’s lifetime, and they wanted to enjoy it and let it continue for eternity.

Diane gently placed her head against Liam’s solid chest. Her red and black hair looked wild under the flashing lights and against his 1988 Fields of the Nephilim tour t-shirt. He brought an arm up to embrace Diane, and he bowed his head to kiss the top of her head. In his heart, Liam knew this was it. After two marriages, including one where his wife was wickedly taken away from him by cancer, he knew he had found his soulmate and never again would he be alone. After this dance, Liam would ask Diane to be his pagan bride, if she would be with him for the rest of their lives. Would she?

As Diane gently swooned against Liam’s chest, she felt complete. Something had happened, she didn’t know what, and she didn’t dare wonder how long it would last. She wouldn’t leave his side, not to go to the bar or to look for a younger man. She wanted to be here no matter what it took or what her mother or her jealous so-called friends would say.

Other than her music, few things in her young life meant anything to her. But this man who had gently taken her heart meant the world to her. How was this possible? It wasn’t, was it? Was it a gothic fairy tale that would end when she opened her eyes or when the clock struck midnight? She never wanted it to end; it occurred to her the songs were right, well, some of them. Love wasn’t dead, there was hope….

Born in Oldham, a Lancashire mill town, in 1971, Nick Armbrister has lived in various places and now in Southeast Asia. He has many interests, including writing, studying history, military aviation and current affairs. He loves gothic music and metal, likes the 1980s for what it was (trash decade!), loves tattoos and wants more. His writing is both varied and broad, covering many subjects in poetry and stories. His work has been published in zines, online, in anthologies, and he has worked with several international writers/poets/authors.

Website: jimmyboomsemtex.blogpost.com

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