The purple nurple was a mistake, thought Chris when the dark stone walls around him started spinning. As he grew faint in the head, he stepped into a shallow pool of rotten water that drenched his feet. Sweat ran down his cheeks and back. His stomach rumbled. He hadn't felt this bad since he had survived the bumpy flight to Phuket International Airport, now three days ago.

Saliva forming at the back of his throat forced him to his knees. He panted and coughed.

Nothing came.

He swallowed a burp. The room had stopped spinning. "No, all cool."

When no scoff came, he darted a look over his shoulder. "Guys?"

Nobody there.

"Very mature..." he muttered.

No sound, not even the faintest of Tala's giggles. She was bad at secrets, and worse at keeping them from him.

He switched on the torch app on his phone and shone it upwards. "Guys?"

He blinked his eyes. He was no longer surrounded by stalactites and stalagmites in various shapes and sizes, but standing in a room. Narrow, like a corridor.

He shone his phone to the floor. Gone were the pools. The ground had turned into... concrete?

Nervously, he played with his new gold bracelet, a souvenir Tala had bought for him at the temple they had visited. What had happened?

Then a deep resonance reverberated in the distance. Faint, but loud enough for Chris to recognise the tune. He chased the sound.

I, I wonder why, I wonder

Why I've come undone, I've come undone

(If you want to stay with me, Lord, play with me)

The closer he got, the louder the music blasted. This must be some exclusive club; an epic end to their post-senior year trip.

He reached a glass door with a paper taped on it, reading, 'Live in concert — Devin Townsend'

Sweet! He had wanted to see the man a month ago, but exams had salted his plan.

With nobody stopping him, he entered.

His mouth fell open. The bald rock god was ripping the riffs while simultaneously hitting his signature high notes. Devin Townsend, in a godforsaken beach club. He needed to tell Tala and Matias.

Turning around, he bumped into a woman with blue skin and an orange lei around her neck.

"Cool body paint." Chris pointed out. Just like the statue of that Buddhist God in the temple they had visited. "Quick question—where am I? What is this place?"

"What do you think it is?" the blue woman retorted.

"VIP club?"

"Yes," she said monotonously. "It's mine."

"Oh... I didn't pay," he confessed. "Do I—"

She touched his shoulder. "Your presence is enough."

Chris couldn't believe his eyes. He thanked the blue woman and moved through the crowd to find a good spot. One song. Then he'd fetch Tala and Matias.

But when the final notes still echoed through the room, the rockstar bowed and left.

Had he missed most of the show?

Just as he darted a look on his phone to check the time (6.15 pm), a double rumble came from the back of the stage. Blast Beats filled the room.

"Hello, Phuket!" shouted a deep voice. "We are Sabaton. We play heavy metal. And this is... Ghost Division!"

Fireworks erupted twenty feet from him, the heat scorching his face and body. His bracelet glowed.

Sabaton, on the same night as Devin! He had to tell Tala—she would strangle him if he saw Sabaton without her.

He pushed himself back through the crowd. At the bar, he turned to the left.

No door.

He turned to the right.

No exit either.

How drunk was he?

At the bar, he ordered a coke from a sullen-looking man with a snake for a scarf.

While enjoying the refreshing taste, he paced back and forth in the club, asking people for the exit.

They ignored him, their eyes fixated on the stage. Even when Sabaton—again after one song—ended the concert.

An eerie feeling crept over him. The crowd was an army of clones with long black hair and sullen looks on their faces, men and women alike.

From the speakers blared a soul-gripping riff. Chris looked up. A broad blonde guy was rocking on a black Les Paul that read Hanneman in big white letters.

No... Slayer's Jeff Hanneman had died in 2013. He couldn't be in Phuket in 2019—that was impossible.

Chris turned to the bartender, who was petting his snake. "I need to leave."

"Hmm, not enjoying yourself?"

"Yes... no... my friends, they must be..."

"... polluting the beaches with their empty bottles and plastic bags."

"What?" The bracelet burned around his wrist. He tried to pull it off but failed. "Who are you? Why am I here?"

"The protector of this land. If I have to explain why you're here, you're dumber than you look."

Chris thought for a while. "So we left some trash on the beach? We planned to clean that up."

"Sure." The bartender shrugged. His snake hissed. "Just like you'd clean up the temple."

"The temple?" Chris remembered having to piss so badly, he had pissed against the back of the temple. "I can explain."

"That was my house."

"Your..."

"House." The man nodded. "This place has no exit. We'll see how much you enjoy a dirty home for... all eternity."

Eternity! Chris grew faint in the head. He collapsed on the floor, dreams of empty bottles filled with urine piling so high he was suffocating. The room spun with flashes of light. The purple nurple crept back up his throat.

"Chris?" Tala patted his cheeks. "Chris?"

He flew his girlfriend in the arms and pulled a confused Matias along. "I saw Jeff Hanneman," he muttered. "We need to go back to the beach to clean."

Matias laughed. "Hanneman is dead."

"But the beaches aren't. We made a mess—we need to clean it."

"OK?" Matias said, confusion clear in his voice.

"I had the scariest nightmare, ok?" Chris scoffed. "We need to do this."

Matias shrugged.

Tala punched him. "It's a good idea. Let's go."

Chris got up; he had lost the bracelet.