Kerchief – CRAZY TOUR STORIES

This crazy story from the road was written by the indie alternative artist, Kerchief. You can check out her story, after the break.

One of the creepiest experiences we’ve had yet happened this past June in Indianapolis. On this stormy night, after an unusual show at a random sports bar we picked up last minute, we got offered space to crash at the sound guy’s friend’s house across town. We didn’t know much about him, but he seemed normal enough.

After refusing the copious amount of White Russians and jager bombs he kept pushing on us, we told him we were beaten and we’d really like to go crash, so we left the bar and headed to his place.

The clouds rolled in Elm Street style as we approached the sketchy neighborhood. Somehow he had locked himself out and was having to break into his own house. During this time, a couple of his friends rolled up. They began to discuss having more people over and scoring some illicit drugs. My bassist, Jarrod, and I were standing 10 feet back by the van and he was suggesting we bail. Right before we made the decision to do so, the house was successfully unlocked and we reluctantly followed the guy inside.

For whatever reason, the first place he leads us to is the basement: a cold, dingy chamber that resembles a scene fromSaw. We all just kind of looked at each other like “why the hell is he showing us this basement right now….are we about to get locked in and tortured?” We were hyper paranoid and on edge, so we showed ourselves back upstairs while he was still talking (about a thousand words per minute) and sat on the couch next to a few other people. By this time, the clouds outside had evolved into a torrential downpour and deafening thunder.

I decide maybe a hit of the complimentary herb they were passing around would help calm my nerves. Jarrod just looks at me like “ha, dude are you sure that was a good idea under the circumstance?” and within that exact moment, the lights cut out. All I can do is run scenes of horror movies through my mind.
But I wasn’t the only one freaking out.

Our host was jacked up on something and was trying to get us to play music with him in his “studio” and party all night. We told him we needed to sleep. We all shared one room and stacked our stuff by the door that didn’t have a lock.

Cut to 4 hours later.

It’s about 6 AM and a random woman charges in the room like a rhino, hitting our drummer (who was sleeping on the floor) in the head with the door and yelling at us to give her a cigarette. When we tried to pretend we were sleeping she literally starts shaking us awake demanding cigarettes. When we told her we didn’t smoke, she proceeds to cuss us out and leave.

It sounded like several more people had showed up since we went to bed and were fighting in the kitchen. We all looked at each other in agreement.

We grabbed our stuff and snuck out the window of the bedroom. We peeled out in the van and went to the closest 24-hour breakfast place, where we sat for over an hour until our nerves calmed down.
We decided maybe we should skip Indianapolis on the next tour.

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