We're dead, we know just who we are
-The Nobodies by Marilyn Manson
If you can make it past the woods where the bats hang from the hollow trees, and you can make it down the gravel road that's as dry as a dead man's bones, through the chain link gate with its rusting, razor wire and over the brown, stinking grass where the serpents crawl, then you'll find yourself at a place worse than all of those things combined.
They say that true horror only exists in the mind, but whoever said that has never been here. Step right up, one and all, and take a peek inside this psycho circus, this carnival of sins, and bear witness... to The Decay.
"Decay!" she says.
You don't quite hear her so she repeats it... "Decay!"
Her tone is obsessive, almost lustful, and even though you hear her this time, she screams it once more... "Decay!"
Her face leans in to mockingly kiss you, but her makeup is that of a corpse so you stumble, frightened, and fall backwards as she laughs manically. You struggle to get back to your feet and when you do, you run deeper into the confines of this abandoned carnival come asylum, far away from her. She is not a nobody; her name is Rosemary.
Go deeper into the mouth of madness and soon the laughter changes from a woman's to a man's, although it could just as easily be that of a hyena. This man wears the same war paint to obscure his face – part killer, part clown and all crazy. If you're brave enough to ask him what he and his associates are, he will babble something about them being death dealers. And if you push to know what their purpose is, he will tell you that it's simply to laugh while the world burns.
You have to wonder if the world he speaks of is Impact Wrestling, and if so, what has driven this once happy entertainer to become this clown prince of pain? You won't find your answers here and now, however, and you'd best move on while you still have the chance, because this is no longer the former X Division comedy act. This is no longer a nobody; this is Crazzy Steve.
The final room in this chamber of horrors resides a monster like the one who haunted the dreams of Dr. Victor Frankenstein. Spend any time in the company of this monster and you are made uneasy by the sight of its scars. I speak not of the physical scars that mark its body like a twisted road map – those scars are well documented – instead, I speak of the mental scars that are there as a testament to the emotional pain that has been inflicted over the years through the betrayal and mind games of men like James Mitchell and Raven, as well as the broken promises of men like Hulk Hogan and Eric Bischoff.
These men thought they could reach the man behind the monster and control him, but now there is no man. There is only monster and no one will ever control him again. This monster has no time for words so you try to look deeper. Look deeper beyond the mask, but there is only, well, an abyss. That's when you know this is not a nobody; this is Abyss.
And so you run. You run as fast as you can, back out of this house, back into the night and when you tuck yourself tighter into bed knowing that evil really does exist, that you've seen it in the ghoulish faces of Rosemary, Crazzy Steve and Abyss, you are thankful that you are not a member of the Impact Wrestling roster, because now that The Decay is here, maybe no one will stop them from rotting TNA.