There is a bar on Cedar Lane. It has been there since before my grandmother was born. No one really knows when the bar was built, but most people think it was made in medieval times and it went undocumented.
It’s a homely little bar, with a giant red cedar tree growing a few metres away (which is how Cedar Lane got its name). It’s not the only bar in our relatively small town but it is the most unpopular. There are so little staff working there that it should probably have been closed long ago. The staff are kind though, that’s the kind of trait you need to have when working around the edges of my hometown. My grandmother was a waitress there, as was my mother. It’s kind of a family business, I guess (although, we don’t own the bar).
I grew up in that bar. I did my homework in the tiny staff room out the back. I remember learning (in secret) how to make the shitty drinks the bar sold. Like I said, I grew up in that old place. My mother recently fell ill, no, that is not why I am writing this right now. I instead want advice. See, recently, I took over for my mom. That was expected, I was her only child.
Anyway, I started work a week or so ago. It was all fine until yesterday. I was on the opening shift with the waitress, Ophelia. I immediately got to work, settling into the schedule I had set for myself. Check and unlock the alcohol, make sure the glasses are all cleaned, set up. Everything was fine but it was a slow night. I, for some dumb reason, decided to do a full shift which is about 6 hours long, (5pm-11pm) and I would be doing full shifts for about a week as the other bartender went on holiday.
The first odd thing about the night was that in the first two hours of opening, none of the regulars showed up. That weirded me out a little, especially when Jimmy and Sad Susie didn’t show up. Sorry, that is a bit of a mean nickname, I’ll explain myself later.
They are our most regular, regulars. They are here nearly every single night, and there will always be at least one of them. Well, from what I’ve seen and been told. Tonight, neither of them were here which did put me off, but I assumed it was fine.
It was not fine. Around 9pm Ophelia took her break. Then she walked in. She was beautiful, with long platinum blonde hair and hypnotising dark brown eyes. She had pale skin and was skinny. I ended up asking if she was okay. Not to comment on anyone’s weight or anything but I could see her bones, so you’ll understand why I asked if she was alright.
“I’m just fine,” she replied, in a voice that sounded like liquid honey. It was slightly muffled, because she wore a medical mask. It was a bit odd but I kind of assumed she wasn’t over COVID yet. “Actually,” she had said, “can I have some help? I can’t zip up the back of my dress.” She had whispered in a flirty sort of tone. I’m pretty sure she batted her eyelashes at me but it’s a bit fuzzy.
I was cautious, we were the only ones in the bar, and I wasn’t really supposed to leave from behind the counter. I went to tell her no, but I looked into her delicate brown eyes and couldn’t muster the strength. So, I stepped out from behind the counter, my eyes trained on hers. I couldn’t look away. Her brown eyes were so pretty.
She stepped up to me, the mask crinkling. I guess she was smiling. I didn’t look to check. I felt her cold arms wrap around my shoulders, cupping my face. She must have gone up onto her tippy toes as her black eyes levelled with my brown ones. Suddenly, I felt off. There was this utterly gorgeous girl in front of me but all I could think was, ‘weren’t her eyes brown a second ago?’.
She lunged forward and tore her mask off. Large fangs scraped against my face. I fell, the girl on top of me. She went in for a bite, aiming for my face and I quickly pushed her back by her shoulders. My heart pounded in my chest. She bared her canines and aimed for me again, pouncing forward. This time, I let out a shrill scream and grabbed her tooth. I think I snapped it, or I punched her or something else. Like I said earlier, it’s getting a bit fuzzy now but all I remember is the loud shriek of agony she produced.
The shrieking stopped. Her body fell to the floor and there was Ophelia. She stood over me, a bar stool in her hand. We didn’t speak, just sat and stared at each other. I could feel my black hair stick to my forehead from sweat.
We called the manager, Carl, who came in and took over for me. He told me to go home, get some rest. I can’t get any rest. My head is running a mile a minute and I’ve been pondering over if I should quit my job. I don’t think I will, though. I will probably ask Carl what the fuck that was. But for now, I’ll bundle myself up in my blankets and hide in my bed.