Description: The best tracks lurk below the surface. A gilled monster digs into a guitar solo in this distressed black-and-white design, bringing creature-feature horror to the record collector’s favourite phrase. For guitarists, monster fans, and anyone who skips the hits to find the good stuff.
Description: Chicken Bone Guitars isn't just a guitar shop—it's a piece of the fictional prairie town of Accord, Saskatchewan, where old instruments, strange stories, and late-night radio broadcasts all seem connected. Featuring a weathered acoustic guitar surrounded by skulls, crossed bones, and vintage-inspired typography, this distressed design looks like an old shop shirt that's been worn for decades. Whether you're a guitarist, luthier, blues fan, horror lover, or collector of fictional brands, this shirt feels like something you'd find hanging behind the counter at the most interesting guitar shop you've never visited. "Every instrument has a story. Some take longer to tell than others."
Description: Broadcasting from somewhere beyond the last gravel road, Radio SHP 666 is the unofficial voice of Hard Place—a place where ghost stories are treated as weather reports, midnight callers never give their names, and every song seems to know something about you. Inspired by the world of Hard Place by Richard A. Jacobson, this vintage-style design celebrates late-night radio, forgotten highways, and the strange comfort of voices carried across the darkness. Perfect for fans of folk horror, rural noir, Americana, and fictional worlds that feel just a little too real.
Description: Death is a river’s silent flow, Breaking free from the dam of flesh. It slips into the ocean’s endless glow, Where no walls confine, no burden to thresh. It’s the wind that sheds its earthly ties, A leaf drifting toward the open skies. In stillness, it finds its endless run, A quiet merging with the fading sun.
Description: Death is the breaking of chains, A bird's final flight from the storm. Where the weight of the world slips away, And the soul is no longer bound by form. It’s the night’s last whisper, a quiet release, A doorway to where shadows cease. In the arms of oblivion, it finds its grace, A dance with the void, free of time and space.
