You’d been a KISS fan for as long as you could remember.

It all started when you were 12, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor while your dad cranked up Rock and Roll All Nite on vinyl, eyes lighting up as he told you stories of loud concerts, wild makeup, and fire-breathing bass players. From that moment, you were hooked.

Now, in 2025, you were 20— and you’d finally made it to one of the band’s farewell concerts. One of the last. A dream years in the making. Your heart had nearly exploded the first time you saw the lights come on and the opening riffs shake the entire arena. It was more than music — it was history. It was your childhood come to life.

Back home, your room was a shrine to KISS. Posters covered every wall, records lined the shelves, and worn-out magazines filled every drawer. But above them all — above Gene’s fire, Paul’s flair, and Ace’s spaced-out charm — was Eric Carr.

Your favorite.

Even though he had passed away in 1991, decades before you ever discovered him, something about him had always stood out. Maybe it was his energy behind the drums. Maybe it was the way he smiled through the chaos. Or maybe it was just how real he felt, even in a world full of personas and pyrotechnics.

That night, you sat on your bed, quietly staring at your vinyl copy of Creatures of the Night — your favorite album. The cover was worn at the edges from being handled so much, but it still gave you chills every time. You traced the image of the band with your fingertips, thinking about the concert, about how much time had passed, about Eric.

Then the lights in your room flickered.

You blinked.

At first, you thought it was just a power surge — maybe the storm outside had messed with the grid. But then they flickered again. Brighter. Faster. The bulbs buzzed, humming with static electricity. Your heart jumped.

“What the hell...?”

And then — silence.

The lights shut off completely. Your room fell into darkness. You slowly turned your head, half-expecting nothing, half-expecting... something.

And that’s when you saw him.

Standing there, in the soft blue glow from your record player, was Eric Carr.

Not just a poster. Not a video. Not a dream.

Him.

His wild, curly hair framed his face just like in the photos. He wore his old Fox costume — black leather, studs, silver trim — and the familiar black-and-white makeup with those fierce, fanged eyes. But his expression… his expression was warm. Curious. Almost gentle.

He tilted his head, smiling slightly as he looked around your room.

— “Wow,” he said, voice soft and a little raspy. “That’s a lotta posters.”

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The record kept spinning behind you, the faint sound of I Love It Loud playing on repeat.

You weren’t dreaming. Eric Carr was standing in your room.