𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙎

Real Band

DECEMBER, 1994

A show was officially booked, however, it wasn't for another two months. Dave and Iris had finally settled on a small place called the Marine Store, deciding it'd be best to schedule ahead of time. The band needed to settle for a bit longer.

The air smelled faintly of dust and coffee, and amps buzzed as cables settled. It wasn't fancy, but it was home base. They had just finished warming up with Alone + Easy Target when Dave motioned to the stack of handwritten lyric sheets and demo notes by the amp.

"Alright," he said, running a hand through his hair, "I've got a few we didn't put on the tape. Thought we could try 'em out. First one's called Podunk. Kinda scuzzy, a little weird."

Nate nodded. "Perfect. That's my genre."

They launched into it. The groove was lurching and angular, a little loose but deliberate. Iris leaned into the riff with a sly grin—there was something distinctly sarcastic in the way the music moved. Her lead fills danced above Nate's locked-in bass, and William kept it tight and muscular, instinctively adding some flourishes on the snare that gave the whole thing a grungy swagger.

When they finished, Iris let out a low whistle. "That song sounds like someone kicked over a rusted engine and it started running somehow. I love it."

"Yeah," William said, grinning. "It's like if a song got drunk and wandered into traffic but made it out alive."

Dave laughed. "Exactly what I was going for."

Next was Ozone. This one was a little spacier, more hypnotic. Dave's riff droned in that classic post-punk kind of way. Nate and William fell into an almost krautrock-style rhythm, steady and trance-like.

"Feels like we should be playing this one under a strobe light at 2am," Iris muttered mid-jam, half to herself. She kept her eyes closed as she played, just riding the wave.

By the time the song faded out, William set his sticks down and said, "That was actually kind of... beautiful?"

"It's a weird one," Dave admitted, "but I dig it."

"It builds in this real sneaky way," Iris added. "Like it's going somewhere without telling you where."

"A lot like Seattle," Nate quipped, earning a chuckle from the group.

Last came Butterflies. This one had a slightly poppier undercurrent, wrapped in distortion and urgency. Iris played with a little more bounce in her strumming hand, catching on quick to the upbeat rhythm.

Dave's vocals were more vulnerable on this one, almost boyish at times, and when they finished playing, a silence lingered for a moment.

"I like that one," William said first. "You're not trying to be too clever. Just... saying what you mean."

Dave nodded slowly. "That one came out of nowhere. Wrote it in, like, twenty minutes."

Nate smirked. "Those are always the best ones."

As rehearsal wound down, the basement filled with the low hum of tired satisfaction. Everyone was relaxed, flushed from the music, perched on couches and overturned crates, sipping beers and catching their breath. Barrett popped down for a moment to check levels and left just as quickly, giving them space.

"So, Iris," Nate asked casually, swirling the last of his drink, "how the hell do you know everyone in the Seattle scene? I feel like every time I mention a name, you've already jammed with them."

She smiled, a little sheepish but proud. "I mean... I grew up here. And during high school, all that stuff was just happening. House shows, park shows, backyard shows, record store gigs—music was everywhere. I kind of fell into it just by showing up."

William leaned forward, intrigued. "You ever start your own band?"

"I tried," Iris admitted. "Back in college, over in California. Had a few songs, a few lineups, but nothing really stuck. I don't know... the pressure got to me. It didn't feel right, and I let self-doubt win."

"Well, sucks for them," Nate said. "Because you've got a serious sound."

She gave a soft smile. "Thanks. I guess being here with you guys... it feels like it's coming back. Like maybe I just needed the right people around."

Dave caught her eye, and she caught his. Something passed between them then, quiet and unspoken.

"So how did you guys meet?" William asked, leaning back.

"When she moved down here she came down and visit Nirvana in the studio." Dave said. "We got along pretty well, started hanging out a bit afterwards."

Nate and William nodded, Dave deciding to spare them the details.

"Nothing like me and Nate; remember that old haunted house?"

Nate laughed. "Oh God, we're telling that story now?"

"Yup," Dave grinned, settling back down with a dramatic flair. "It was '93. I had just taken my fresh Nirvana paycheck and bought my first house in West Seattle. Gorgeous from the outside. Creepy as hell on the inside. Doors creaked, stuff moved. I had dreams of a girl in the hallway every night for a week."

"Did you check the foundation for, I don't know, demons?" William asked, amused.

"Well, Nate comes over with a few people," Dave continued, "and one guy brings a Ouija board."

"Which actually worked," Nate confirmed. "Letters moved, candle flickered—classic horror movie stuff."

"We asked if she was murdered or some shit, and I cannot make this stuff up, it spelt out yes."

The group laughed at Dave's dramatic storytelling, the four continuing to converse until later that night.

The room quieted again for a moment, not in discomfort, but in warmth. The kind of quiet that only comes with familiarity.

They were just beginning, but already, it felt like something real.

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A/N

haunted house is a true story!

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