From The Vault: The Granbury Fleets

In this edition of From The Vault, we go back to a story written during the author's high school days...


The Granbury Fleets



    Back a short while ago I was totally into music. Not just listening to it and worshipping the classics, but actually playing it in front of live audiences.
    It began two years ago when my older brother got a really styling electric guitar for his birthday. As a sibling with a pulse I naturally became jealous, and wanted one as badly as a coyote wants a roadrunner. My brother eventually got tired of rocking and rolling and began studying law instead. It was the most bizarre change of aspiration I have ever heard of.
    I traded him a couple of dusty judicial textbooks I found in a library alleyway for the guitar, and within three weeks I had taught myself how to play. Vividly, I recall the long nights practising chords in my bedroom, while the neighbours screamed at me to 'Shut Up' or 'Get a Real Job.' Usually stuff like that.
    For months I dreamt of starting a band with people as dedicated as I was, and at last it was fulfilled when I met some guys from my high school who were just looking for a crew to jam with. After a minute of playing we knew our styles were compatible, and together we formed a band that same day.
    At first we were dreadfully bad. We didn't have a name, our drummer was a science geek named Tom Burelson, who spent more time calculating his drum beats on blueprints than playing them. Our bassist was decent but prone to the occasional mishap, such as somehow misplacing two of his strings or forgetting his instrument entirely. Nevertheless though, we got better. My guitar playing worthy to marvel at. Burelson with his clockwork timing turned out to be an incredible drummer, dispite his glasses falling off on stage all the time. And our singer, who'd been the last to join us, had the voice of a soul man from the 1950's.
    After nearly a year of playing together we finally chose a name; "The Granbury Fleets," based on something crazy our singer came up with one day. From then on our success grew. We were treated like celebrities at our high schools, everyone knew what our names were, what instrument we played, even our favourite movie or colour. Our fame was spreading like a warm cheese whiz, they couldn't seem to get enough of us.
    Eventually we started playing gigs at night, and immediately then were we not only being recongized at school, but complete strangers would recognize us on the street. Burelson wasn't sure that we were actually that good of a band and attributed our success to a kind of science fiction occurrence. Either way, actual musical talent or inter-galactic assistance, I was just enjoying the ride.
    About a month ago we were scheduled to play a night show at a warehouse down by the Lakeshore. There was expected to be around three thousand people there, by far the largest crowd we had ever played for. We had a bit of trouble finding the place, and we'd nearly given up when we finally saw the place. It was a huge building, even for a warehouse, and an unexplained fog seemed to surround and swirl around the entrance.
    Like the beginning of most of our gigs, we were welcomed by the owner. She was a very nice and cheerful hostess, though with a somewhat futuristic inclination towards fashion. Once we got on stage we noticed the crowd was way larger than we had anticipated. It looked like instead of three thousand people we were going to play for thirty thousand, but I figured it must have been an optical illusion. Stranger than that was the way this crowd was looking at us. Usually when I went to concerts the folks around me were happy to be there, but  at this gig nobody in the audience had an expression on their face of any kind.
    To be honest, it creeped me out, but nonetheless the show went on. The first song we blasted off was our favourite and most famous, about a guy trying to buy a baloney sandwich or something. When we finished we expected a loud cheer from the crowd, that's what usually happens after that song, but the lack of  expression from the audience hadn't changed. In fact, it didn't even seem like any of them had even moved.
    We did our best to shake it off and play more of our best songs. After our second song still there was no reaction from the audience. After our third, the same thing. Nothing. We kept playing and our songs kept bouncing off them. Nothing could reach them, it was like playing a concert to a bunch of empty seats, except filled with people.
    I felt like smashing my guitar. Ten songs into our set without the slightest reaction from the crowd, it was the musician's equivalent of that nightmare when you're walking in public without any pants on. Two songs later we decided to just stop playing. I whispered to Burelson and convinced him we had to leave, that staying would just be a waste of effort.
    We put down our instruments and headed for backstage, when suddenly a thunderous chant of "You Will Stay! You Will Stay!" rung through our ears. They all sounded as one voice. We looked and saw that nobody's mouth was moving, yet the horrible sound was coming from every direction, surrounding the inside of the warehouse. I don't know what came over me but next thing I knew I was running as fast as I could, the rest of the band close behind. We scrambled through the door and broke into a sprint once we got outside, the chant of "You Will Stay!" haunting our ears.
    A few days later we broke up as a band. Burelson went straight back to his computer, while I developed an unexpected interest in being a doctor, which in the end wound up being the second most bizarre change in aspiration I've ever heard of.


    I'd nearly forgotten the entire ordeal when earlier this morning, I ran into the owner of the warehouse on the street, dressed in her same futuristic garments. She was still very nice, and she asked me with genuine interest how I was and what I was up to.
    I gave her honesty, and told that my band had broken up and I was probably going to study medicine when I graduated. She seemed to accept this.
We continued making small conversation until suddenly her expression changed, like she was remembering something buried in her mind. I looked around instinctively to see what had diverted her attention. Like in a trance, she began to shout: "You Will Stay! You Will Stay!" right into me. It stunned me so that I just stood for nearly a minute while she did.
    At last I got my mind together and escaped down the street. I looked behind me to check if she was coming after me, and she wasn't. She just stared at me, a stare that slashed right through my bones.