[OCTOBERFEAST is the greatest celebration of the year, a revelry dedicated to pop-culture’s most nutritious Halloween detritus. Plastic screams and artificial sweeteners have never been more bountiful. In the old country, villagers refer to the extended party as Satan’s Snacktime]

The malignant hordes have festered upon the campgrounds, sprawling about in a triumphant display of terror. They take killer rips from gasoline tanks teeming with Mountain Dew. They burning effigies of the Kardashians. They feast upon orange-frosted cupcakes and handfuls of roasted pumpkin seeds.

There is no doubt that the OCTOBERFEAST merrymakers are having the times of their lives.

However, total immersion in the immoral leaves the partygoers defenseless! At this point, virtually every one of `em is pumpkin-drunk and fear-fatigued. What should happen if some Donnie Decency stormed the gates, pamphlets about hygiene and righteousness in hand? Well, we could very well see the dark disciples converted, repurposed for existences without surfeits of sugar and regular poltergeist-attacks.

The horror!

Fortunately, there are those who keep careful watch over the OCTOBERFEAST – after all, the success of any evil entity is contingent upon the strength of its sentries. Voldemort has the Death Eaters. Darth Vader has the Stormtroopers.

Not to be outdone, OCTOBERFEAST has its own last line of defense: Etrigan’s Guild. For the safety of the celebration, the identities of this cacodemonic collective’s members are shrouded, revealed only to the perpetrating do-gooders. But in the spirit of Satan’s Snacktime, tonight the captain of the guild is stepping forward, making his presence known to any considering infiltration.

The Captain of Etrigan’s Guild: Glenn Danzig

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From the moment I awake, there is no reprieve from the Beast. He chases me on my way to work, his hot breath burning the hairs off the back of my neck. All day he skulks about my place of business, steaming up my glass door and flexing his gargantuan muscles. He drools all over the floor and the janitor gets a second degree burn trying to mop it up. My co-workers lock themselves in their offices and bolt for the exit when they think he’s not looking.

Most of them make it out alive.

Finally, I clock out for the day. I pack my bags and grab my wallet. Walking to my car, I have no fear for I know I shall defeat the Beast.

His name is Comics and we battle every Wednesday.

Welcome to Variant Covers!

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