BETA Records - Your music matters!

Certain doom stands in a room of blood,

...The blood of his victims,

...The ‘Figure of 8’





3: 1: 3



"All it's worth is a crack in the earth.

But it's a crack that people fear."





Bin Alley: A glorious shit-hole, where the dead will lay hidden forever. Situated between an abandoned Industrial Estate in the run-down hovel of Binsley Town haunts Missery Alley. Nearly a mile long, it winds like a snake through the estate enclosed by grimy walls and cluttered with peoples filth and odd trash. Here lies Edward. In an open area at the center, behind a grossly over-sized derelict warehouse, is a condemned electrical sub-station all boarded up and clotted in graffiti.

The Bin. Where the sun don’t shine. Local’s say The Bin is haunted, or perhaps the alley itself, that a person can vanish passing through. Truth is, they can.

An utter darkness entombs the entire alley and an atmosphere dampened by dread; sickness in the air, a different kind of sickness. Death. It stunk of piss and vomit. Corpses. Beer bottles and boxes and clothes and papers, rubbish and more rubbish, clutter its way along the floor until The Bin, where it’s clear, then again to the end of the alley. Old surveillance cameras are on every turn, though they seem as dead as the alley itself.

1:12am. January 3rd. 2009. Stood at the boarded up entrance was a man of overwhelming proportion; not just abnormally fat, but as tall as the front of a truck. His black hooded jumpsuit held him together, stretched around his powerful arms and his short stumpy legs. His face was covered by the shade of his hood, from the shade came a long platted beard. He was reading the words splattered across the boards. 'Snuff you' over and over, as if written by a child.

"Snuff you, mother fuckers'." he growled, picking out a hammer from his jumpsuit, then launching him, crashing against the boards. The noise echoed around him and was slightly tubed. Again he slammed himself into the boards, cracking them and stumbling backwards. Then he lifted the hammer.

"Listen, freak, you... you're not allowed in here," said a girls voice, from inside The Bin, "You fuckin' here me? Li’l bitch you fuckin' here me?"

He dropped the hammer, involuntarily, stepping back from the boards; the young voice had startled him, filling him with adrenaline.

"I've got a message, it's from Big-Top. We want him back, all of him. We know it was you, or that bitch sister."

"Who are you speakin' to?" laughed the girl. "You think we have him, huh? Oh, he's gone now, all gone, but it wasn't us. Sure we tried, but I guess he didn't stay dead."