“9 Curzon Place” by Daniel W. Powell

December 5, 2010

There are places of malevolent energy in the world—places that feed on their ill-fated visitors. 9 Curzon Place is just such a place and, whether by coincidence or by design, one has to admit—this London flat is assembling a hell of a band. [29 min]


The man at the center of the circle looked haggard—wasted by excess. He wore skin-tight jeans and a dingy t-shirt stained with vomit. His oily hair sprang from his scalp in jagged angles and tears brimmed his swollen eyes before tracking down gaunt cheeks.

He was fielding questions near the entrance to the flat where it happened.

“Describe the kind of person Caleb Perrilloux was,” a reporter said, shoving her microphone into the man’s face. Flashbulbs crackled all around them. A mournful wailing, the sound of distraught fans on the periphery of the media throng, provided an eerie soundtrack to the proceedings.

“He was just the best. The best friend. The best musician. The best…I…I can’t say anything other than that,” the man gasped in response.

The reporters clamored to deliver the next question until one of them was able to shout above the rest. “Who found him, Mr. Strong?”

Sammy Strong, the drummer for the mega-band Perrilloux, wiped his eyes. “It was our road manager. Beth Howser. She’d only just re-joined the tour after seeing to some personal business back in the states.”


“9 Curzon Place” by Daniel Powell, first appeared in Something Wicked, February, 2009

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