<strong>Piledriver Lane</strong><br/><br/>Even before the door opens, the thick bass of the music inside from the party can be heard banging through resonating metal and electric guitars.  Even from outside, the heavy refrain of "Start the killing!  Start the killing!" can be recognized through screams and whirring notes.<br/><br/>When the door finally opened, one of the boys answered the door with a smile, wearing jeans and a Phi Kappa Upsilon T-shirt.  He couldn't help but grin as he saw the pizza girl, pulling out his wallet and clearly about to leave a great tip.<br/><br/>"Who the crap ordered pizza?" came a voice from behind the hallway.  As another young man stepped out towards the entryway, red paint visible on his hands and white shirt, everything seemed to shimmer.  A sudden sense of nausea filled the area, though none of the men seemed to notice.  The stink of blood permeated through to the outside, clearly coming from the guy who was covered with blood, not paint.  Something was clearly wrong about him, as if his flesh was trying to slip away from his bones, although it wasn't easy to clarify just what.  The refrain of the music changed suddenly,<strong>"Stop the killing!  Stop the killing!"</strong>before the bloody man clicked off the boombox.  "Dude, we're trying to-"<br/><br/>"Wasn't me, Greg," the first boy said, pulling out a twenty to offer Lorraine.  He didn't seem to notice anything was wrong, though he did seem a little nervous.  "Though I am hungry."<br/><br/>From somewhere deep in the house, very faint and almost indecipherable save for the sense of weirdness providing some powerful but inconceivable amplification, came the soft sound of a woman's voice, "...help..."