Saturnz Barz

The house was clearly old. It was the sort of house some rich, colonialist toff would build as a summer home, a chunk of old Victorian England admist the quaint backdrop of sea breeze and coconut oil. Apparently there had been murders, occult rituals and other nasty things going on in here, which is why the place had been left to rot and gather cobwebs, heavy with rumours of strange noises and sightings. The fact that it was still standing was a miracle, not a testament to the quality of the building material or the workmen involved.

In short, it was pretty shit. But the Gorillaz and Stephen needed a place to stay, and there had been whispers of a basement perfect for recording music. Which, honestly, was all you needed as far as a band who hadn't made new music for six years was concerned.

It was the usual balmy, tropical Kuwahawi weather when the band pulled up outside - perfect for sunbathing, swimming or very alcoholic drinks. So when Murdoc rang the doorbell, expecting to meet whoever the landlord of this place was, the sudden crack of lightning followed by rain was a little odd. But then again, the gang all together had seen odder things in their lives, so nobody did much more than duck under the overhanding porch roof for protection, assuming this to be just a freak tropical storm.

"Loudest doorbell I ever heard," Murdoc observed, staring intently at the button.

The door opening by itself, however, was a new one. Nobody had quite expected that.