Detective Gary Murdock is summoned to a basement recording studio to investigate the apparent suicide of rock star Sean Christopher, known to the world as Torn Embryo. By chance or intent, the fatal gunshot has been caught on tape. When Murdock listens to the playback, an eerie and indistinct voice can be heard in the background, casting doubt as to whether Christopher was alone at the time, or if his death was a suicide.
"You don’t believe in spooks, Lieutenant. One look at you and I can see that you don’t." — Eddie Templeton, recording engineer
"People like that are hard to be around for long; they’re too restless, too unsettled… maybe that’s the reason he went through women and musicians so fast." — Rich Gregory, jazz musician
"I thought it was going to be the worst thing I’d see that morning; turned out I was wrong about that." — Clayton McDougall, police officer
‘You listen to music for pleasure. Torn Embryo wasn’t made for that.’ — Wes Halverson, nightclub owner
Michael James McFarland holds a fractured lens to a dark and infamous house, from its groundbreaking by lumber magnate John Condon to the sensationalized atrocities of Beat poet Ian Ellison. Through journal entries, song lyrics and police interviews, the past collides with the present and a blood-soaked form emerges, stalking the house, driving its occupants to the most unspeakable acts.
Genre: Horror
"You don’t believe in spooks, Lieutenant. One look at you and I can see that you don’t." — Eddie Templeton, recording engineer
"People like that are hard to be around for long; they’re too restless, too unsettled… maybe that’s the reason he went through women and musicians so fast." — Rich Gregory, jazz musician
"I thought it was going to be the worst thing I’d see that morning; turned out I was wrong about that." — Clayton McDougall, police officer
‘You listen to music for pleasure. Torn Embryo wasn’t made for that.’ — Wes Halverson, nightclub owner
Michael James McFarland holds a fractured lens to a dark and infamous house, from its groundbreaking by lumber magnate John Condon to the sensationalized atrocities of Beat poet Ian Ellison. Through journal entries, song lyrics and police interviews, the past collides with the present and a blood-soaked form emerges, stalking the house, driving its occupants to the most unspeakable acts.
Genre: Horror
Used availability for Michael James McFarland's Blood On The Tracks