Necrophobia: The Bartender 1941

Part 2

The following morning, my skin met a frigid wind; the windows were open, letting the breeze blow into the room. The air grew thick with the scent of smoke. I grimaced at the familiar smell. Damn, I mouthed. Thinking about the bar influenced my ability to function. Peering out the window with tired eyes, I noticed the rain had finally stopped. I quickly got up and started my morning routine. Nile disappeared just by seeing an empty bed in his room, but the lukewarm, dark coffee on the table confirmed he had left the apartment recently. He was probably doing his morning errands like usual. If anything, I should be the one preparing to go out.

Halfway through the tram pilgrimage, I learned journalism class had been canceled via email, presumably from a flash flood yesterday. Although disgruntled, I found myself in the campus library. I locked myself in a private cubicle and got to work. Then I extrapolated this as a reasonable time to research the bar while Nile was away.

I got my laptop out and searched the town's webpage, later discovering information regarding the bar and its history. At first, nothing popped up unless you scrolled down far enough into the website. The bar's section was brief, skimmed through, almost as if a mere text was lost and forgotten. Some articles included missing persons from the 20th century, no doubt related to the tavern, yet weren't particularly forced on the cases; I was looking for the undead, but still–nothing. Several hours into my studies, my back began to strain and pull from my abnormal position on the stiff seat.

I decided to go for a walk.

All around me were the beautifully colored skies and raining maple leaves. The leaves scattered throughout the cement road as I walked upon them. I tried to avoid the puddles as much as possible. But even that couldn't put my mind to rest. By the end of the afternoon, my energy drained as my shoulders scrunched in fatigue. At the local park, I sat on a bench, watching the kids play freebie while the adults chatted about the incoming holidays. I watched until my mind traveled to what Nile said last night: an undead entity that haunts the bar.

Impossible. Those things don't exist. Or do they? I had no idea.

As the sky transitioned to night, Nile called, notifying me to return. His voice sounded urgent and swift; he said he had a surprise awaiting in our apartment. Of course, I had already suspected the surprise gift but played along. I returned the favor and said I would return in a few minutes. Immediately, Nile's premature chuckle found its way to my ears before hanging up. I knew this would be a gift to be shared–a gift to be recognized.

Nile dragged me inside and harshly locked the door behind us, which was unusual behavior. Inside the living room, the center coffee table has been replaced with a large box with tape sealing every crack visible. I turned to him, curious, before going back to the package.

Must be the surprise he prepared for me, I thought silently. Nile stood behind me and nodded, granting permission to open it. Inside, I found it brimming with items: multiple crumpled police files along with preserved photos and newspapers dating back to the early 1940s. I looked at these strange and random objects while inspecting each one of them.

My roommate convinced the sheriff and the tourist department to give him some files for my diminutive research. It turns out that they had given almost everything related to the tavern. They said the cases were going cold; not enough evidence and most of the things said and done were probably mere coincidences, just 'too good to be real' mishaps of the past. When he finished, he told me about the old folklore that haunted the town or perhaps the bar where it died.

The fable began during the late 1900s. Though, most details had insulated from the original as the village grew older and more people moved in. It's now a town's story to prevent young children from wandering too far into the woods, or a demon will find them and devour their souls. Contrary to most of their beliefs, these stories were all too real.