In the Dark
She sat at the bar, muttering inconsolably and slurping down mint juleps. She wore a business suit with sensible flats; she’d tied her simple saddlebag purse around her left leg. Her jewelry was simple and inexpensive.
Jamsie didn’t know who she was. She wasn’t one of his regulars, and she didn’t belong to his dad’s or granddad’s era.
The bar had been in his family for three generations. It was always run like an old Irish pub with raucous laughter and loud music. Everyone knew everyone else; they knew your family even back to the Old World. It was both quaint and kind as well as nuisance. Tonight though had been an off night, and the woman was his only customer.
He gave her space and wiped down the end of the bar furthest from her. He’d already closed all the liquor bottles and balanced the till. It was a quarter to two, and he just wanted a way to get her out so he could collapse at home.
His wife Katy had birthed him a beautiful little girl just months before. No sooner did they have Little Colleen sleeping through the night then she began teething; her first tooth had just cut the gum so he knew he had a night or two of well earned rest.
The woman scared and intrigued him. Some of the snippets included terms like “layoff” and “too expensive to insure” and “too old for words.” His granddad knew those terms, only in the form of Great Depression and too many mouths and a baby at that age. His granddad became an NYPD cop and worked two shifts to put together enough money for the bar; by the time Jamsie was born, the only life his granddad knew was the pub.
Should he rifle her wallet and call her a cab? Should he turn down the lights and try to subtly warn her of closing time?
Other snippets bothered him. She muttered about “disappearing dog” and “missing journal pages” and “stupid people blocking my writing.”
Suddenly, she slapped the bar, mumbling, “Can’t see you. Know you’re there. Stop messing with me.”
He felt a cold chill through every joint in his body. It was like the ones he used to get when his granddad talked about wailing banshee in the Old World or leaving the leftovers from dinner out so the brownies would go after all the creepy-crawlies or avoiding staring at the Tuatha Dé Danann so your kids wouldn’t be cripples.
He sighed and pushed out all his air, almost in a devout wish to blow away her and whatever she might see that he couldn’t.
“Lady, hey, lady. I really need you to go. 2 AM is our closing time.”
As she snapped her head around, it bobbed from the sheer volume of hard liquor she’d drunk all night. She opened her eyes and tried to focus.
Jamsie felt every muscle in his body go taut. He had thought she had green eyes; he’d have sworn her eyes were green. Instead, they were deep, dark pools of black that were blacker than the blackest anthracite his granddad had hauled before being a beat cop. At the center was a dot of the deepest, most sickening red he’d ever seen.
He didn’t know what to do. He remembered some of the Old World tales about tricking non-humans. He remembered the theatrical televangelists shouting and stomping “In the naameee of Jeeessussss….” He remembered a little old lady who knew him when he married; she’d always told him to sell the pub because every bottle of alcohol has a demon inside and that’s why the poison was known as spirits. His heart beat faster and louder.
He decided to try to work with whatever humanity was left in her.
“Could I just call you a cab? I don’t think you can drive.”
The red grew a bit in the pupils of her eyes. She remained silent. He remained motionless. He didn’t know if he should address the non-human thing that seemed to have her tongue.
She pushed up from the stool, and she faltered with the handbag until it was over her shoulder. She started to walk, stumbled, and tried again. She… it… whatever was walking toward him.
He remained frozen, his hands started to tremble, his breath grew jagged and fast. It was like he couldn’t move even if he wanted to.
The body continued moving until she was standing toe to toe with him. Jamsie trembled. The arm reached around his back and began to rub his back, as the hand on the other arm stroked his face and cupped his chin.
Jamsie tried to keep his eyes closed. He thought of his baby girl and how like her momma she was. He was afraid to fight and afraid to give in. His mind wandered to the incubus and succubus stories.
“Looook…. at…. me….” it hissed.
He caught his breath. “No.”
“Look… at… me… maybe… I… leave…”
Fear clenched Jamsie’s heart. He knew darker spirits lied to trick humans. He knew some cultures held that the eyes were the windows to the soul. He wasn’t sure he wanted that something to see his soul.
“No.”
“I… will… not… leave… until… I… seeeee… eeeeyyyeees…”
He could feel the thing breathing on his face through the human body. He remembered the joy he felt when Katy would linger over him for a few moments before kissing him deeply and passionately with her tongue exploring his mouth. The thought of that… thing… shoving a tongue in him scared him.
It waited. He felt a sinking, sickening feeling that he had only one possible option. He breathed, feeling some of the thing’s breath coming in, and he pushed it out. The thing tightened its grasp on his chin as if to align his impending gaze properly.
He let his thoughts linger for just a moment on Colleen’s smile and then on that last good, deep kiss Katy had given him. He opened his blue eyes.
Time froze. The black pools got narrower as the sickening red grew. His heart sped as his breathing stopped dead cold.
“Tooooo….. pure………” it shrieked.
In an instant, it was 2 AM. Jamsie stood alone in the pub, cold, dark, and silent. His icy limbs were shaking as he walked to the door, locked up, and turned the sign.
Maybe, I should add a Celtic cross and some family photos, he thought. A crucifix would just kill the atmosphere. Or maybe that old woman was right and I should sell. How do I even tell Katy?
