Darkness seems to reside a bit heavier over these small, Middle American towns. Much like any other Midwestern settlement, the town of Sweet Lips seemed to materialize from thin air as we navigated the chewed up backroads which brought us to this forgotten place. The streetlights which beckoned from deep within the night would flick and dance with the swarms of moths that gravitated around them. That familiar feeling, a clenched fist deep within my chest, began to throb madly. There’s something certainly peculiar about Sweet Lips, something stirring with hateful fervor.
I’ve been hunting vampires, or rather creatures of the night, for the better part of four years now. Truly, it’s a thankless job. You see, if I were to confide such things to the average person, I’d quickly find myself on the wrong side of a cell at some poorly ran, underfunded mental institution. So, I try to keep to myself for the most part. Of course, there are exceptions.
“Do you feel anything”, her voice broke the tense silence which had followed us from Illinois to Tennessee, from town to town as we had journeyed to remove the undesirables. I could feel curious eyes fall on me as we crept closer to the town.
“There’s definitely something”, I whispered, afraid that my voice may somehow seep through the cracks in our car, falling on the wrong ears. Her hand fell on mine, clasping it tightly under the growing tension that threatened to bubble over. It’s been an anxiety-riddled journey these past few years, even more so since Molly had joined me a few months ago. Really, it was selfish to bring her along in the first place. Misery loves company, I guess. Though it wasn’t quite as miserable with her around, I admit.
“It’ll be alright, always is”, I looked to her now, giving as reassuring a smile as I could muster. I squeezed her hand back. The town drew nearer, the treacherous road passing under our weak headlights. Maybe it was wrong to bring her along in the first place.
Still, we pushed forward.
Sweet Lips Diner, a drab, little thing, which sat directly in the middle of town seemed overtly, expectantly well-lit. My chest ached, my heart throbbing violently now. This was the place, that I was sure of. The difficult part was finding and killing the thing, obviously, but the adrenaline and chest pain which accompanied that was always my least favorite part.
These things, these creatures, aren’t so much a phenomena from universal parts unknown, but rather just poor, shameless bastards who made a deal with the wrong folks. Fallen angels is an easier way to put it. Peer pressure is a dangerous thing, especially in a crowd of such alluring characters I had come to find. I chose a different route, however.
People seem to speak in euphemisms, in a not so direct sense. ‘Hiding in plain sight’, for example, is a common one, but terribly fitting for the place that Molly and I found ourselves at then. It seemed comical almost, like a child’s Halloween drawing, the building in the foreground shrouded in inky darkness as the homes which surrounded it seemed like nondescript squares in a perfect line. The front doors shifted lazily in the wind, whispering for us to come closer. I would oblige.
I planted a firm hand onto Molly’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. Her lips pulled into a tight smile, aware of the horrors which lie beyond.
The door to the Taurus squealed painfully as I pushed it open. The street light which blinked perpetually above our car seemed to pull itself inward, faltering underneath the crushing darkness. I’m no stranger to strange encounters, in fact this will be just another job in the few dozens I’d performed over the last few years, yet I couldn’t help but jump as Molly’s door slammed shut. I tried to steady my breath, a low chuckle escaping my lips.
We hurried along the patchwork lot, eager to escape the cold, biting wind. Even in the face of supernatural danger, humans will always follow their primal instincts; seek warmth. The inside of the diner was much like any other small town eatery you’d find in the States, though the pin-striped seats seemed especially dilapidated and the faint haze composed of cigarette smoke lingered overhead. Typical, if not listless.
We seated ourselves, not another soul in sight. Still, that throbbing sensation festered deep within. Wherever this being lurked, assuredly conniving in some dark corner of this place, it was close. There is no love to be had for these things. The air seemed awfully still, as though you could pick up your knife and fork and take a bite from it.
The saloon doors leading to the kitchen swung open and a tall, blonde woman hurried to our table. She didn’t appear terribly threatening, somewhere in her middle-age I assumed, however the cracks and crevices of a party-fueled, bar-hopping lifestyle made themselves sorely apparent. Her eyes were erratic, shifting wildly back and forth between Molly and I. Her lips pulled back into a smile, revealing gums far too big for her yellow, chiclet-esque teeth.
Yet, my heart seemed to relax some. This was not the soul we came searching for, otherwise I’d be on the verge of uninhibited panic as she closed the distance between us.
“Here’s the menu, y’all, holler when you need me!” she said with vacant excitement, and with that, I’d located where the cigarette odor had emitted as she brought her face within inches of mine. I could imagine the smell twisting and bending into the form of a hand, shoving its fingers down my nose. I nearly gagged. I looked up at Molly, her eyelids drawn back as she shifted her gaze from me to our waitress. She couldn’t sense them like I can, she hadn’t made the deal.
She’s just a bystander.
Our waitress stiffened, straightening her posture, before quickly walking back to the kitchen. In a way, it was like watching a marionette being pulled along a stage.
Stiff, rehearsed, robotic.
“Jesus, that lady gave me the creeps…” I whispered, afraid she may host some sort of crack-headed hearing abilities. I suppose that’s just Midwestern America for you. I returned my gaze to Molly, waiting for her reassurance that that lady was, in fact, fucking creepy. Instead, she simply stared back at me, expectantly.
“What?”, I asked. I guess I had grown accustomed to Molly’s quick wits and smartass replies, it was when she went silent that I would begin to worry. I looked behind me, expecting some horrible monstrosity to be breathing down my neck, however the restaurant had remained entirely empty.
“You’re telling me that wasn’t it?”, she said under a hushed roar. I stared at her, taking a moment before realizing she was talking about our waitress.
I laughed, an erratic, crooked thing which only escapes the lips of individuals under a great deal of stress. The kind of laugh when there’s nothing else left to laugh about. For the first time that night,
Molly seemed to smile, a real, genuine smile.
Our midnight-breakfast-dinner dragged on agonizingly slow, though the coffee was a must needed pick me up. The food was passable, nothing special, just a little gut fill to keep us going onto the next town. Our waitress seemed scarce, appearing only to drop off our food and to leave us the bill. Perhaps my scent was off, maybe my gift had finally ran dry. Still, the fist in my chest gripped each and every nerve as volts of electricity seemed to run up and down my spine.
Somethings off.
I pulled a wad of wrinkled bills from my pocket and set it atop the check, pushing it aside.
“Anything?”, Molly furrowed her brow, expecting some sort of specter to have crashed our late dinner by now. I was almost convinced that I had led us astray.
“Guess I was wrong, sorry about th-“, the hinges to the kitchen doors whined as they drew open, drew open by just a crack. The waitress poked her head out, her eyes shimmering and bulging from the sockets. We locked eyes.
“Would you like to meet the Chef?”, her voice was hardly audible as joyous, childish giggles escaped her throat in harsh gasps. The corners of her mouth were white with slobber.
We remained silent.
Just as quickly as she appeared, her head drew backward behind the door, back into the unknown. I’m sure the look of fright was etched as deeply on my face as Molly’s as we both looked at one another, making sure we hadn’t just been hallucinating.
The door opened once more, this time with more vigor, more purpose. A bald, portly man walked briskly to our table. He was adorned in a pristine, white apron and t-shirt, which hung tight on his fat, tattooed shoulders. His eyes never left mine, drilling a whole within the deepest chamber of my being. His eyes, much like your average cat, shone a deep yellow color.
The alarm bells in my head began to go off, the knot in my chest reaching its crescendo.
I believe we have our guy.