A Short Story I wrote (first forum post!) Free Dating, Singles and Personals

A Short Story I wrote (first forum post!) Posted: 1/6/2009 12:00:41 PM
Hello, all. This is a story I wrote. I suppose it would be classified in the thriller/horror genre, although that is difficult to pin down. If you read it, you'll understand why I say that. Also, I looked over the FAQ's briefly before posting this, and as near as I can tell it doesn't violate any of the forum rules. That being said, let me tell you up front that there is just a bit of "blue" language within the story, so be forewarned. Enjoy! Have A Drink On Me The Heavy parked his El Dorado in the lot of a closed-down gas station adjacent to the club he was visiting, killing both AC/DC on his stereo and the engine as he turned the key off and removed it from the ignition. Stepping out of his car, he looked at the vehicles surrounding the night's haunt. They were the usual mix of SUV's, import hotrods, sedans and the odd pickup truck that could be found around any of the other clubs in Chattanooga. The bar was also par for the course in this town, a building that was once something else, now adorned with neon lights advertising the bar's name and printed vinyl signs advertising happy hours and karaoke nights. Putting his keys in his pocket, he adjusted his belt, suspenders and trench-coat, checked the position of the item in his right coat pocket, stepped over the curb separating the two lots and walked toward the club. As he neared the club, he gave the doorman a nod of recognition. Decked out in head to toe black, he wasn't exactly dressed to go clubbing, but this wasn't the nicest club in Chattanooga. Plus it seemed like he knew every third person he bumped into, and this man happened to be an old acquaintance. "How 'bout it, Big Jeff?" "Kilgore Jones! How's it going?" "Aw, you know. Hanging in there. Gonna see if I can't find something interesting to get into tonight." Jeff looked the Heavy over and said "Man, you ain't exactly dressed to the nines." "I know, dude. Are you going to make me bust your head open again? Over a dress code?" Jeff smiled. As big as the Heavy was, Jeff was a couple of inches taller still, and could easily bench press him. "You never gon' let me live that down, are you? One time, you elbow me from behind and send me into a coke machine, and you gon' hold that over my head for the rest of my life?" Smiling in return, Kilgore said "Hell yeah, as long as I have to so I can get in these dives they hire you to guard." Jeff playfully punched Kilgore in the upper arm, actually rocking him a few inches to the side. "Get yo' ass in there before we have a rematch right here." "Thanks, man. Tell your son I said 'Hey'." "A'right." Stepping inside, the Heavy was met with a blast of air-condidioned cold, as well as a blast of something that some people would call music; some shitty dance-remix version of some shitty allegedly "country" song. Stepping farther inside to keep from blocking the doorway, he looked around the room, searching for something he wasn't quite sure of, but certain he'd find it nevertheless. He saw the mass of people on the dance floor, trying with varying degrees of success to attract the attention of and impress members of the opposite sex. He saw an area full of people either standing with their cues and waiting to shoot pool or standing with their beers and actively shooting the shit. There were the tables, with people either holding down the fort for their more adventurous companions or trying to work up the nerve to join the fray. He saw the bar itself, full of people nursing drinks and conversations or getting drinks to take back to their own areas of revelry. Full, except for the far right end of the bar, where what appeared to be a slender man sat on a stool, naked and alone, fully six stools empty to his left. The "man" merely sat on his stool, looking around the bar in a slow arc, a look of smug amusement upon his deathly pale face. "There you are, you stard." Kilgore made his way across the club to the bar itself as people instinctively moved out of his path. Barring Jeff outside, the Heavy was the tallest man in the club, and so damned big that the thump of his steel-toed boots was audible even over the thump of the dance floor's sound system. All appearances to the contrary, he was ordinarily a friendly and pleasant fellow to be around. But he was here on business tonight, and the grim set of his jaw and focus in his eyes spoke of a man who would brook no matter of nonsense. Better to move aside and let the big man through. Turning sideways to lean into an empty spot at the bar, he signaled for the bartender. "What can I get you?" "Two Yuenglings, if you'd be so kind. I'm meeting somebody down at the end of the bar." The bartender looked at the far end of the bar. "Looks like the two of you will have your pick of seats." Kilgore followed the bartender's gaze to the naked man on the stool. "Yeah, so it would seem. Have you seen anybody down there tonight? " The bartender opened two beers and set them on the bar. "Not a soul." "Isn't that odd, as busy as y'all are?" Kilgore asked. "Nah," said the bartender. "It happens sometimes." "Huh." The Heavy grabbed his two beers and stood up straight. "I'll square up with you before I leave," and without another word he headed for the "empty" end of the bar. The bartender stood there, his mouth opening and closing without a sound. He would usually insist on either being paid or starting a tab on a credit card, but something told him not to push the issue. But in the interest of job security, he decided that he had to say something, at least. "Hey, buddy..." he began, but the big man had disappeared. He looked at the end of the bar where he expected to see him, but it was still deserted. "Well I'm a son of a ," he muttered before heeding the call of another thirsty patron. As Kilgore walked unerringly to the creature seated at the lonely end of the bar, it seemed startled by his approach. "Mind if I have a seat?" Kilgore asked. "I got us a couple of beers. Hope Yuengling's okay. It's my favorite, so I figure most folks'll take one. 'Specially if they ain't buying." The creature looked at the Heavy up and down, now actually shocked to have been addressed directly. "I... I..." "Thanks," Kilgore said. He placed one beer in front of the creature, then placed the other in front of the second stool to the creature's left. He moved the stool back from the bar a good bit, then settled his bulk onto it. He was pretty sure it'd hold him, but he took his time in sitting down just in case. The creature regained his composure and again looked calm, but he could not hide his surprise at this turn of events. "You must be the Heavy." It was Kilgore's turn to look surprised. "Yeah. Yeah I am. I take it you've heard of me, then?" "Indeed." Kilgore turned to face the creature and got a good, close look at him. He looked to be of average height, perhaps five-nine or so, but rail thin; maybe a hundred and twenty pounds, if that much. His short, light brown hair looked as if it hadn't seen a comb since time immemorial, and it was knotted and matted to his head. Stark naked, the creature looked back at Kilgore and said nothing. The Heavy extended his right hand. "Well, I'm the Heavy, Kilgore Jones. You can call me Kilgore." The creature looked at Kilgore's hand for a moment, then shook it weakly. The Heavy had to suppress the urge to retch at the creature's touch; no living hand was as cold as this, and it was a most unpleasant sensation. "I have gone by many names. You may call me Evan, as it was this body's name." Kilgore retrieved his hand from the creature and quickly took a sip of his beer. The condensation on the bottle gave him a good excuse to wipe his hand on his trench-coat. Wrapping his hand around his beer again, he asked "So, Evan, how is it that you know me?" The creature eyed the Heavy for a moment, hesitating as if unsure how to begin. Finally he said, "For we creatures of the night, you humans all look the same. I know, I know, it's cliche', but it's true nonetheless. There is little to set you apart from one another. Some of you may have more fight in you than others, but in the end you all fall to our predation or serve for our amusement. You come, and you go. We remain. You, however... You have slain a great many of us. You see, we are not social creatures; it is not in our nature. But being somewhat territorial, we are aware of one another, and therefore we know when one of our number has fallen. That is rare in and of itself. But when several of us fall in one area, we who remain look into it. 'Ask around', if you will. As distasteful as we find direct interaction with humans, well, aside from hunting you understand, sometimes it is the only way we have to gather information. Such a number of our kind has fallen by your hand that we've even begun to share this information amongst ourselves, albeit with great reluctance. But in all of these areas around the country where we begin to disappear one by one, the people tell of a big man in black called 'The Heavy'. A man who, ahem, fixes things. A man armed with a massive blade, wooden stakes, guns with silver-plated ammunition, water that burns like fire and... and... faith." The creature nearly spat the last word out. "Such a man can only be you. I take it, however, that you are not armed tonight? Your laws do not allow for such things in places like this." Kilgore shook his head. "Nope, not armed tonight." "Then why is it that I sense silver on you?" At this the creature gave a small shudder. "We can feel it's presence, you know, when there is enough of it." The Heavy turned his head far to his right, revealing the nine silver hoops which adorned his left ear. He shook his head slightly, making them jingle just a bit. "It's these. Not weapons, obviously, so you needn't worry about them. I came here looking for you. But to talk, not to fight." "To talk? Why would one such as you talk with one such as myself? Surely you seek to kill me as you have so many others?" Kilgore nodded. "Oh, I do seek to kill you. And I will, just as you would kill me if you had the chance. But that doesn't mean that we can't be sociable; learn a little bit about one another." The creature looked suspicious, but he gave a sigh and said "Yes, I suppose you are right. This is a rare opportunity for each of us. But now let me ask you another question: how did you find me? We are all cautious and secretive by nature, but those of us like myself are even less obtrusive in our activities than others." Ignoring the question, the Heavy asked "Are you going to drink your beer, or just let it get hot?" "This?" The creature gestured at the bottle before him. "I can, at times, partake of your food and beverages. But as I have taken ownership of this body as opposed to simple 'possession' as you call it, I can imbibe no longer." "Ah. I'd wondered about that." Kilgore took a sip of his beer and placed it back on the bar. "As for how I found you... Nearly nobody believes in things that go bump in the night. Even if someone sees something that should tell them that everything ain't what it seems in the world, most folks will rationalize it away. They just can't accept the basic wrongess of your existence in the world. No offense." "None taken." The Heavy continued. "But for the rare few like myself who do know the truth, the signs are there. Oh, you've gotta read between the lines to see 'em, but they're still there. Mostly it's subtle little things in the local papers and news broadcasts. And a lot of times people will have a 'problem', then they'll hear about me through the grapevine and track me down. That's actually how I get most of my work. "You, now... You were different. As I've said, I keep my eyes and ears open for things that other folks wouldn't think to put together. Livestock slayings, unexplained disappearances, murders without an apparent motive or suspect, things like that. But I got to noticing a string of stories about health and safety inspections of the bars here on Brainerd road. Customers complaining of headaches, thinking that there must've been some sort of gas leak or something making people feel like hammered shit. One story like that wouldn't catch my eye. But they kept popping up, and they seemed to be moving slowly from the levee on up here towards town." "And this roused your suspicion?" Kilgore took another sip of his beer. "Yeah, but just a bit. Enough to make me keep closer tabs on the events on this street. But when two people died of strokes in the middle of two different crowded bars within a few days of each other, I knew for fact that something needed my attention. So I started my search a few bars down the road a couple of nights ago and began to work my way up. I didn't know exactly what I was looking for, but I knew that I'd recognize it once I found it. And sure enough, here you were." The creature furrowed his brow in concentration, taking in what he'd been told. "Hmmm. That is a first. Never has any mortal sought me out. For anything. I cannot say that I care for it. No offense." Kilgore gave a brief shake of his head. "None taken. And don't worry, it's not something that's gonna happen often. One more time, I think, then no more." He gave the creature a slight smile, but the smile did nothing to hide the challenge conveyed by his eyes. The creature returned Kilgore's gaze in silence for a moment. "Well. That remains to be seen. If I may, I have another question for you, one which puzzles me even more than my last." "Fire away." "How is it that you can see me? I have taken new bodies and stalked among your kind for millennia, and never... never have I been seen when I did not will it to be so. Not even by my fellow creatures of the night." At this, the Heavy burst into laughter, and then with great effort forced himself to stop. Unable to remove the smile from his face (this one genuine), he said, "I'm sorry... It's just that... You don't like that worth a damn, do you?" Although it didn't need to breathe, the creature took in a long breath and then let it out through his nose for effect. It's voice dark with contempt, it merely said, "No. No I do not." "Well, that's not surprising. Nobody likes finding out that they ain't quite as good as they thought they were, and apparently that's even true for y'all. But I'll tell you how I can see you." Kilgore paused long enough to drag on his beer. "I believe quite strongly in psychic phenomena. I've seen too much anecdotal evidence, and I've even had a few people who I don't believe have a lyin' bone in their body tell me that they have some sort of ability to one degree or another. But I have an ability of my own, one that I've never heard of anyone else having. Or maybe it should be called a lack of ability. Not only am I not psychically gifted, I suppose you'd say I'm anti-gifted." "Meaning?" "Meaning that I never have premonitions. I have hunches, sure, but they come from the combination of intellect and experience. I never call one of my buddies at random and have them say 'Hey, I was just thinkin' about you', and I never know anything that I didn't see, hear or read for myself. I never have dreams that come true. But... I can't be read, either. And I'm absolutely impervious to any sort of psychic attack. If a demon were to try to dive into my head, he'd break his nose on my skull." At this the creature actually smiled. "And just what is it that makes you think that you are 'absolutely impervious to any sort of psychic attack'?" "Well," the Heavy began, "I'd have to say it's the fact that every one of you sons of es who's tried some of that mental mumbo-jumbo on me thinking it would save their ass has either wound up a pool of ectoplasmic goo or crumbled to ash before me." Kilgore gave the creature his best shit-eating grin. "I'd say that about proves it. Wouldn't you?" "Why, you arrogant... You..." the creature stammered. "Just because you are large and apparently very ing lucky... You assume that..." The Heavy interrupted and completely derailed the creature's angry rambling by nearly whispering, "And, I can see you, can't I?" The creature's words died in it's throat. It glowered at him for a long moment, then looked down at the bar for another. Gathering it's thoughts and collecting itself, it appeared calm again as it finally looked back at Kilgore. "Yes, it seems that you can. Touche'." "Now," Kilgore began, "lemme apologize. I came in here and said I just wanted to talk, but old habits die hard and I've just behaved like a bit of an ass." Kilgore took another long drink of his beer, nearly finishing it. "It seems that your apparent invisibility stems from your own psychic powers, which I don't doubt for a moment are considerable. Am I right?" The creature arched his eyebrows in surprise at what seemed to be a slight compliment from the big man. "Yes, you are right on both counts." "Alright. And you've mentioned possessing and taking ownership of bodies. So by way of an apology, and so you'll know that I'm not bullshitting you, I want you to try to get into my head." The creature's eyebrows climbed even higher up on his wan forehead. "Pardon me? You want me to try to get into your head?" The Heavy looked evenly at the creature. "I do. Possess me. Make me get up on the bar and dance like them girls in that movie. Hell, try to divine what band I was listening to as I drove here tonight. If you can get anything into or outta my thick skull, I'll get up and walk out of your life forever. Or unlife. Or whatever..." "You're serious?" The Heavy never even blinked, but looked directly into the creature's eyes. "Do your worst." The creature looked at Kilgore for a moment, then turned in his seat to face him more directly. Allowing his mental probe to flow from himself to his target, he found... Nothing. It was just as he had been told; his probe flowed past (and presumably even through) the big man and encountered nothing that it would not have if the stool had been unoccupied. The Heavy continued to look into the creature's eyes, as still as stone. Puzzled, alarmed and frustrated, the creature withdrew his mental probe and mustered his will for his strongest attack. His plan was to project a good portion of his psyche directly at the man's eyes, dislodging his target's psyche just enough to allow him a mental foothold. Then he would be able to make him perform simple tasks at first, and gradually increase his control until he shared his mind fully. "Then, my large friend, you will stalk us no more," the creature thought. There was no movement to indicate the onset of the attack; no blink of the creature's eyes, no facial tic, no intake of breath. The creature simply mentally launched himself at the Heavy with as much force as he could generate without actually leaving his host body. The attack was so sudden and ferocious that Kilgore felt... Nothing. Utterly terrified now, the creature turned back in his stool to face the bar, unwilling even to look at the big man. "I take it we're done with our little exercise?" Kilgore asked before finishing his beer. "Umm. Yes." "And?" "You did not lie to me." The creature gave the Heavy a sidelong glance then looked back down at the bar. "I have never experienced anything like that. You possess a clever mind; this I can tell from talking with you." "Why, thank you." "But when I try to do anything to you... to sense something of your thoughts... Indeed, when I tried to dislodge your thoughts and implant my own... I encountered no resistance, unlike some gifted humans who fancy that they've trained themselves in the art of mental defenses.... I simply encountered..." "Nothing?" Kilgore finished for him. "Nothing," echoed the creature. "Told you," said the Heavy as he reached for the creature's beer. "Mind if I have this? Since you can't?" The creature shook his head dismissively. "By all means." "Thanks." Kilgore took a sip of the warm beer. "Now, I've got a question for you." "Yes, I suppose it is your turn to ask something of me," replied the creature. "What is it that you would know?" "Just what the are you?" Kilgore asked. "I've been at this for quite some time, and I've seen all kinds of creatures, but I've never encountered anything like yourself." The creature turned again to face the Heavy. "No, I suppose you have not, for we are few. Even by the standards of creatures of the night we are rare. I am what you would likely call a 'psychic vampire'. I am sure that you've come to this conclusion on your own." "Yeah," Kilgore nodded. "That's what I figured, but I didn't know for sure, having never, umm... met one of you before. I suppose you feed on the life energy of humans, as opposed to their blood?" "Indeed. This is what caused the headaches you saw in the newspaper accounts." "Huh," Kilgore grunted. "And how do you go about feeding? Does it take physical contact, or what?" The creature shook it's head. "No, just being close to the victim is enough." The creature then raised his arm and gestured around at the patrons of the club, all oblivious to the one-of-a-kind conversation going on between the two. "From this stool I can sense every mind in the room, and sip on those whom I find appealing." "Sip?" Kilgore asked. "Yes," answered the creature, "as you would drink through a straw. I can take small amounts from distances such as this. To take in more and faster, however, that does require that I be within..." The creature paused and tilted his head, as if recalling some memory. "Oh, say, ten feet or so." "And I reckon that causes them to stroke out and die?" "Again you are correct," the creature replied. "We can sustain ourselves for a time on small amounts of energy. But every few days we require a more... substantial... intake." The Heavy's eyebrows came together as he took in what he'd just learned. "Okay," he finally continued. "You said that you could, umm, sip, from those you find appealing." "Yes." "Just what do you find appealing?" he asked. "What's your taste in minds?" The creature closed his eyes and smiled, looking to the Heavy like nothing more than a man who was remembering his mom's cooking. "Ahh, the misery that you humans have within you," he said before finally opening his eyes again. "That is what draws me... the pain, the guilt, the self-loathing. Oh, the things that I could tell you which are within the minds around you..." The Heavy looked at the creature in silence for a moment. "Hmm," he finally said, and then took another sip of his beer. "Pick one out for me. Maybe the one you like the best, and tell me about them." The creature swiveled his stool, facing away from the bar, and Kilgore did the same. "Do you see that lady dancing there? The extraordinarily tall one wearing the low-cut top?" The Heavy scanned the dance floor, following the creature's gaze. "The blonde Amazon chick?" "Yes." "Okay, what about her?" The creature's eyes narrowed as he focused on her. "Her father hurt her as a child. Not physically, but emotionally. He made her feel remarkable only for her ugliness." "Huh?" Kilgore replied in surprise. "But she's gorgeous." "Yes, she is, by your standards," came the creature's answer, not looking in Kilgore's direction. "But for whatever reason, her father apparently didn't think so. She has spent her entire life looking for her father's love in the arms of the men she meets in places like this. On the rare occasion when she meets a nice man, she ruins the relationship by endlessly comparing him to her grandfather, a World-War Two hero and quite a remarkable man in every respect, a standard which no man can live up to in her mind. Thus she denies herself that for which she so earnestly longs." Although immune to the creature's powers, Kilgore found himself fascinated by watching him at work. Repulsed, too, at this invasion of the woman's privacy, but mesmerized nonetheless. The creature continued, his eyes still sharply focused on the lady on the dance floor. "Married once, simply to escape her tiny, rural hometown, she divorced him later and took the two children whom she did not want to begin with, but to whom she feels obligated out of sheer stubbornness and pride. They are at home now, as they have been on so many, many nights since the oldest was able to look after the youngest. And they spent so many, many nights before that time in the care of friends and family as she hunted and gave herself to whoever would have her." Despite the fact that she could not see what was transpiring at the end of the bar, the lady must have been somehow aware that something wasn't right. She abruptly ended her dance, dismissing her prospective mate for the night with her upheld palm and a shake of her head, disappearing back into the crowd in the direction of the tables. As if confirming the Heavy's unspoken suspicion, the creature said "Ah, I focused too intently for too long." "People can feel that?" "No, not feel it per se, but I have to call the memories up in their mind to sense them myself. In doing so, they begin to dwell upon them, to the point where they usually lose interest in whatever they are doing and take a break, if not leave for the night." The creature spun back around to face the bar. Again, Kilgore turned with him. The creature gave him a sly, sidelong look. "Would you like to witness a feeding?" Kilgore, having brought his beer up for another drink, paused and glared at the creature. "What the did you just say?" The creature smirked, apparently relishing the idea of another opportunity to display his abilities for his would-be hunter. "I asked if you would like to see me feed on her. I can still easily reach her mind from here." "You'll do no such a damn thing," Kilgore growled, shaking his head. The creature appeared to be puzzled by this. "You would defend her? She who neglects her children to whore herself out to strangers? She who in her selfishness and misery has twice tried to kill herself and abandon her children altogether? For her you would threaten me?" The Heavy sat his beer down, thumping it on the surface of the bar. "Absolutely." Leaning in toward the creature, his face a mask of barely suppressed rage and indignation, he added, "You know what I do for a living." At this the creature winced and cringed away from the big man. "Yes, but..." Kilgore continued as if the creature had not spoken. "Just because we've arranged this informal truce tonight, that doesn't change who and what we are. Now I'm betting that you can't stop me from doing what I do, but I'm pretty damn sure that I can put a stop to you." He leaned in even closer. The creature tried to look brave in the face of his suddenly belligerent companion but failed, rather looking like he expected to be struck down at any moment. "You will harm no one tonight," Kilgore rumbled. "Do you understand me, Evan?" The threat of violence echoed in every syllable; it was written in every line of his face. "Y-yes. I understand," was the creature's timid reply. "Good." Kilgore sat back upright in his stool and finally had the sip of beer he'd been after moments ago, giving the creature both room and time to compose himself again. After giving himself a bit of time to calm down, the Heavy asked another question. "What's the difference between possession and ownership of a body?" "Pardon me?" "You said earlier that you couldn't drink a beer since you'd taken ownership of that body, rather than possessing it. What's with that?" "Ah, I see," began the creature. "First, we must have a place to inhabit. We cannot roam freely like some other spirits." "Okay," said the Heavy. "And it always begins with possession," he continued. "That does require me to be quite close to the victim, and eye contact as well, so I must allow them to see me. What I could not do to you is to jar my victim's psyche loose momentarily, giving me space and opportunity to fully enter their mind. The process takes a bit longer than feeding, around thirty minutes or so after the initial attack. Once inside, however, I have full control of the living body, and am able to do with it as I please. Eat, drink, copulate..." "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get the picture," interrupted the Heavy. "Spare me the gory details. I ain't interested." The creature shrugged. "As you wish." "So how long can you possess a body like that?" Kilgore asked. Again, the creature shrugged. "For it's natural span. Or until I get tired of spending the energy to keep the original mind suppressed beneath my will. I lose much of my psychic abilities during possession, since my mind is always struggling with that of my victim," he said. "But I do not have to feed as often since I can simply live off the energies of my host. And," he added, "it is sometimes interesting to take over someone's life for a time. The havoc that I can wreak within their family is..." The creature again closed his eyes in delight. "Delicious." Kilgore had to repress a shudder, brought on by the creature's callousness towards his victims. "And what happens then?" "Either I move on, or I neglect the body's basic needs until it finally dies. Then I can no longer enjoy the pleasures of the flesh, as it were, but my mind is freed to do more, no longer having to expend the energy needed to quiet the original mind." Kilgore took another sip of his beer, this one now nearly finished as well, and thought for a moment. "And... the new body, once you've taken it over completely, is animated and, preserved? By the force of your will?" "Correct." "And then you need to supplement your mental energies with the energy of humans?" The creature responded with brief, quiet applause. "Well done, Mr. Jones, well done. I must say you pick things up very quickly. No wonder you are so able to learn of our ways and be so lethally effective against us". "Umm... Thanks," the Heavy answered. "So what happens when you leave the old body?" "Without my will to sustain it, the body, as you said earlier, 'crumbles to ash'." "Huh," Kilgore grunted. "Looks like you have that in common with the other vampires I've... encountered." The creature opened his mouth as if to speak, but remembering the brief glimpse of his companions fury, decided against doing so and remained silent. "What about sunlight?" Kilgore asked. The creature shook his head slightly. "No, I shall not answer questions about how we may be dispatched. I have been open and honest with you, but you'll forgive me, I'm sure, for not telling you how to kill me." The Heavy chuckled and said, "Nah, I ain't gonna hold that against you. But it was worth a shot, anyway." "I suppose so," the creature replied. "I have one final question of you, if I may." Kilgore nodded his assent. "Shoot." "Why do you do it?" he asked. Kilgore didn't even need to ask which "it" he meant. He thought for a moment, his eyebrows drawn together, then shook his head and said, "You first. Why do you do it?" The creature looked aside momentarily and then back at the Heavy. "Why, it is what my master sent me to do. To sow fear. To spread sorrow. To bring misery into the world." He shrugged as if the answer should have been self-evident. "It is simply what I am. Now, why do you do it?" Kilgore returned the creature's shrug. "It's what I am," he said before finishing his beer. "No," the creature began, "that is too easy." He shook his head. "This is not what you humans are. Your nature is to fear us, to fly from us." Kilgore looked away. "It's true. It's just what I am." "You, sir, are a liar," said the creature. The Heavy quickly turned to face him once more. "You'd better watch who you're calling a damned liar!" Despite the previous demonstration of Kilgore's anger, the creature remained defiant. "I shall call you a liar so long as you lie to me!" he nearly yelled. "I have answered all of your questions tonight, save for the one pertaining to vulnerabilites, which you agreed was understandable. And I have answered you truthfully, even though I had no compelling reason to do so aside from our agreement to be civil to one another!" He glared at Kilgore and saw that he was looking down and away from him, a sure sign that he was correct. As he resumed his tirade, his voice continued to rise. "I cannot read your mind, Mr. Jones, but I have observed your kind from nigh upon the beginning of time, and I know a liar when I see one, and you are lying to me!!" The creature continued to glare at him, refusing to make any effort at composure. "Well?" he demanded. "Dammit..." Kilgore thought to himself. He looked at the creature who had still not moved a muscle. He sighed and said, "You're right. I'm sorry. If you don't mind, I'd rather not say why I do this." The creature inclined his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. "Why?" "Well, among other things, you said that y'all have begun to share information amongst yourselves. I just don't know how much of my personal business I want y'all to know about." The creature looked indignant. "But I have answered your questions fully expecting you to share that information with others of your kind!" "Who the am I going to tell this to, huh?!?" Kilgore exploded, forcing the creature to lean back away from him. "There are no others like me. Yeah, there are a few who've seen enough to believe that there's some crazy shit in the world, but do you really think some dude's going to want me to sit on his front porch and talk about the time I had to run a stake through his goddamned wife's heart? Huh?!?" "But..." "And even the ones where I didn't have to lay one of their family members low, you think they want to hang out with a reminder of one of the most ed up times of their life? When up was down and black was white and all their little **ing fairy tales about the world being a good place got ripped apart and shoved up their ass? Just 'cause I killed a werewolf for a person instead of a loved one, that don't make 'em hate me any less!" "But surely..." "Yeah, I help 'em. I fix something for 'em. And they're grateful. Then they want me to cut a trail." Kilgore leaned in closer to the creature, staring directly into his eyes. "I've looked into the eyes of the monster too many times," he said. He lifted his hands before the creature's face. "There's too much of your blood on these hands. Once somebody knows what I'm capable of... what I've done..." He looked at his hands, lowered them again, and looked back at the creature. "Well, let's just say I don't get a lot of Christmas cards." The Heavy sighed and turned to face the bar again, his face down. "Even the few folks who've been so grateful that they continue to help me, they don't want to hear about what I do. They support my efforts as best they can, and they round things up for me as I need 'em. But they don't want to hear about it." He closed his eyes and placed his forehead in his hand. The creature was incapable of pity. But he seemed surprised by the outburst he'd just witnessed. "I honestly had no idea. I had supposed that you would be hailed as a hero, glorified among the people you've... helped." Kilgore remained still and silent. "I would hear your story, if you would tell it," said the creature, his voice low and calm. "In all my years, I have never encountered your like, and I would be honored if you would tell me how you became what you are." Kilgore sighed again, then raised his head, rubbing his hand down his face as he did so. "Alright. I'll tell you. What can it hurt?" "I cannot see how knowing of your origin would give us any strategic advantage," said the creature. "Okay. But I'm not going to tell it all," Kilgore said, turning to look at the creature. "There are some things that even I don't like to think about. Fair enough?" The creature nodded. "Fair enough. I will listen to what you choose to reveal and be satisfied with that." The Heavy thought for a moment before beginning. "There was a friend, long ago. It seems that magic ran in her family. She said something about having some Gypsy blood in her or something. Now while it ran in her family, she had an uncle who was an outcast. He was the only one who dealt with black magic. When he died, the family divvied up his possessions, and she got a bunch of his things, including this one particular book." The creature frowned. "A book?" "Yeah," Kilgore said. "She told me that it was leather bound, and looked to be older than any book she'd ever seen. Said it was written in Latin." "She could read Latin, your friend?" "No, but she could recognize it. Girl was smart as a whip. Anyway, she gave it to a friend who was in med school at the time, so he could translate it for her." "Ah," said the creature. "Doctors learn Latin as a part of their studies, yes?" The Heavy nodded. "That's right. The guy transcribed two pages in English for her... It kept going on about 'blood and swords'... Then he gave it back to her and told her that he wanted nothing else to do with it." He paused and looked down, then said "I've always wondered what else he might have read but didn't write down." He looked back at the creature. "Does that mean anything to you? 'Blood and swords'?" The creature shook his head. "No, that phrase by itself means nothing to me." "Hmm," Kilgore said. "Well, anyway. I'm still kinda in the dark on how this happened, but the book got into the hands of some Satanists..." Kilgore had just enough time as he was telling his tale to wonder what the creature's reaction to the mention of Satanists would be before he was interrupted. "Satanists," the creature said, scoffing. "Imbecilic rustics who think that slitting a cat's throat and spray-painting a pentagram on the wall of a deserted house is serving my master. That, or arrogant city dwellers who use my master as a symbol for their belief in nothing." "You don't approve, I take it?" The creature scowled at the Heavy. "Idiots. Morons. The vast majority wouldn't be able to summon a demon if they had his number on speed dial." Kilgore burst into laughter for the second time this evening. "Dude, you have got to be shittin' me!" "I beg your pardon?" asked the creature, looking affronted. "No, no... I'm sorry, man..." Kilgore said between bouts of giggling. "I just never expected to hear... a joke... from..." But he was unable to continue, having been overtaken by laughter again. The creature smiled and chuckled. "And I never expected to make a human laugh while being my true self." "Damn," the Heavy chuckled as he regained his composure. "Damn. Now where was I?" "Satanists?" offered the creature. "Oh yeah. Them." All traces of his good humor suddenly disappeared. "You woulda liked these guys." "Indeed?" "Yeah," Kilgore said. "I tried to convince her to get the book back from them, but she was too scared. I didn't push the issue because I didn't want to piss her off. And because I had no idea what those guys had gotten their hands on." The Heavy stopped and looked off into the distance, staring at nothing. "A lot of people got hurt because of that. Hurt bad." He stopped again and was silent for nearly a minute. The creature said nothing either, sensing that interrupting him how would end his tale. At last the Heavy spoke again. "Yeah, a lot of people got hurt because I didn't know what I was up against. So I sought solace in my faith." The creature winced at the word, but then asked, "Yet you didn't find it?" "No," he agreed, still looking away. "No, I didn't find peace. But I did find guidance. And purpose. And one other believer who'd seen something lurkin' in the shadows once." His eyes returned to the creature. "Sam helped me to become what I am today. And I've been trying to make up for that one mistake ever since." The creature nodded. "I see. And what became of your Gypsy friend?" Kilgore sighed and shook his head. "Last I heard, she was seeking solace in crystal meth. Been punishing herself for that one mistake ever since." Having told all that he would, the Heavy again lapsed into thoughtful silence. "Thank you," said the creature, bringing him back to the present. "For what?" Kilgore asked, looking puzzled. "For telling me your story." "Oh. Well. You're welcome" The two looked at each other, both seeming to have said all that there was to say. Then the Heavy slapped his hands lightly upon the bar, spun his seat a bit to his right and stood up, facing away from the bar. He placed his hands in his coat pockets, clearly not wanting to repeat the mistake of shaking hands with the creature again. Looking over his left shoulder, he said "It's gettin' to be my bedtime. Evan, I can't honestly say that it's been a pleasure, but it has been interesting." The creature remained seated and facing the bar, looking over his left shoulder at the Heavy. "Yes. Same here," he said. "You realize that you will never see me again, don't you?" "Oh yeah? How's that?" The creature looked him up and down. "Because survival is our primary drive, even above serving our master. And meeting you in person has made avoiding you a very high priority. I do not have any desire to join the ranks of those who've not removed themselves beyond the reach of your wrath." Kilgore looked down and thought for a moment, then nodded his head. "You may very well be right. Well, just in case I don't see you again..." The movement would have been very fast from a smaller man. But from a man of the Heavy's stature, it was unbelievably so... He spun on his left foot, then propelled himself forward at the creature, all the while bringing his right fist, still inside his coat pocket, forward and upward to connect with the creature's back, just below his rib cage and to the left of his spine. "Unhhhh!!" The creature made an involuntary noise as first the air was driven from his lungs, and then his entire body went rigid and spasmed. Kilgore stepped back and watched as the spasm died and the creature slumped forward onto the bar. He saw the small, "X" shaped hole in the creature's back, and looked down to see the ragged hole in his coat pocket which was its perfect mirror image. "Wha..." was all the creature could manage to say. Kilgore removed his right hand from his pocket, holding what appeared to be a six inch piece of broom handle with a hole drilled into the center. He bent down near the creature's face and held it in front of him. "I don't think this has a name. Think of it as the world's shortest spear," he said. "Wha..." "Oh, it had a spearhead on it," the Heavy went on. "It was seated in this hole here." He turned the wooden dowel so that the creature could see what he was talking about. "Now it's buried up in your back," he explained. "Using it this way meant I had to poke a hole in my coat pocket, but that's not such a big deal." Looking back at the dowel he said, "The head was a special order made by my Dad." Kilgore resumed his seat at the bar, looking over at the creature. "Dad's a retired machinist. He doesn't know what I do, but he loves to work with metal, especially custom work. And he doesn't particularly care what it's for. Give him a sketch and some measurements, tell him what you want it made of, and he goes in his little workshop and makes it happen." "Buhhh..." "Oh, the center portion of the spearhead was silver, with sharpened arsenical bronze blades," he told the paralyzed creature. "Seems like most of y'all don't take to silver worth a damn, and I've run across one or two that didn't take kindly to the bronze made with arsenic, either. Now, not knowing much about you, I figured I'd run 'em both up the flagpole and see who saluted." "Mahh..." "Well, shit. Now that I think about it, I don't know which one did the trick," Kilgore mused. "Eh, it doesn't matter. Seems like the combination worked just fine." The creature summoned what little strength he had left, took in as deep a breath as he could, and said, "Didnt... come... to... fight?" "No, I didn't come to fight, that's true," the Heavy agreed. "And there wasn't a fight. A killing? Yeah, there's one of them going on. But no fighting." After another deep breath, the creature gasped, "Said... unarmed. No... silver." "Yeah, I did say that, didn't I?" Kilgore asked. "Sorry. I lied," he said with a smile. Kilgore got up from his stool again and stood behind the creature. Grabbing him beneath his armpits, he easily lifted him off the bar and out of his stool. As he laid him down on the floor behind the stools, he spoke. "I don't know how long you're going to be able to keep this invisibility trick up, so I'm going to make this quick." Having positioned the creature to his liking, he stood, rising to his full height. As he looked down into the creature's eyes, he said, "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit... I unmake you. Go back from whence you came." The creature, so weak now that he couldn't even blink in pain at the invocation of the Trinity, merely exhaled what breath he had left in his lungs. "Huhhhhhhhh..." The Heavy watched as the body turned from pale white to a charcoal gray, then began to collapse at the extremities and lose its shape, the ribcage being the last to crumble. Kilgore knelt down slowly. Vertical was best for him, and he strayed from it with great hesitation. Sifting through the ashes on the floor, he found the spear head and blew the dust off of it. He placed it in his other pocket, along with the dowel. He stood again and looked down at what remained of Evan. "Hmm... He wasn't lying," he observed. He walked back to the populated end of the bar and once again flagged down the bartender. As he approached, Kilgore produced a twenty and handed it over to him. "Keep the change. Sorry about earlier." The bartender, having dutifully forgotten the incident, smiled and said, "I see you never met your friend at the end of the bar, huh?" "Come again?" "I kept an eye on that end of the bar. Never saw you or anybody else," the bartender said. Kilgore looked down at the end of the bar. It was still deserted, but the empty area around it was shrinking already. "Nope. I sure as hell didn't meet a friend down there." He thought about apologizing for the ashen mess on the floor, but decided to leave well enough alone. "Take it easy, man." "You too," came the bartender's cheerful reply. As the Heavy turned and headed for the door, he noticed the chorus of the song that the sound system was blaring: "Forget about the tip, We'll get hell to pay! Have a drink on me!" He couldn't help but smile as he strode across the club, a small clearing of his own following him out as it had on his way in. "Yeah," he thought. "We'll make hell pay, alright."