Kill the Beast Halloween Party at The Nursery - November

You might have heard of us.

The metallic chomping of our “new-fangled death-contraptions” (The Luton Eagle), the brain-licking buzz tunes of our song-masons (“not so much tunes as accidentally structured howling” The Lincoln Buzzard), the tang of our potions, the fizz of our lotions, the sometime burning of our inner linings and, of course, our legendary fingertip-tapping to those who have passed over.

But these are modern times! This is 1865, my friends! Why should the dead stay silent? Why should they just wink dourly from our coat buttons? They don’t hog the booze, they don’t clog the toilets, they certainly won’t make off with your lady and stuff you with the bill.

When we, my band of merry-make-shift-shape-shifters and I visit a town we come with one mission in mind – to join those who have passed over to eternity with those who have yet to loose their grip on it.

Join us for an evening of booze-guzzling, song-shrieking, spirit-flirting and jelly-tossing. MARVEL at our mechanical miracles! GASP as we share the secrets of your future, SWEAT among the dancing frenzy, GAPE as dark magic drips overheard and HOWL alongside friends far too deceased to worry about the hangover.

We just ask one thing – don’t get too tempted by their whispering. Don’t get seduced by their glint-lipped blistering, their cobwebbed blustering, don’t be drawn into their crack-jointed gibbering. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve been witness to a tragedy, and frankly the blood is a nightmare to clean. 

The lights of the abyss can be awfully tempting. We ask you don’t follow too far. 

Yours,

Dr Ezra Tallboys

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