Tales of the Graveyard Shift: The Greasy Goblin, Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Apparently, supernatural bars didn’t have to worry about pesky human laws regarding alcohol, because it was still flowing freely around the tavern. I sipped my cranberry juice as the conversation flowed around me. People had started filtering out of the tavern as dawn approached, and those remaining cast disapproving glances toward our rambunctious group.

There is an exhausted giddiness people succumb to when working overnights; when you stay up beyond when you should have gone home and fallen asleep. You get loud and not a little obnoxious, but the others were having fun and most of the other patrons were leaving anyway. I nibbled on my food—some kind of appetizer I didn’t have the courage to ask about. None of it really had any taste, as I tried to turn over a plan in my mind to get Celinwel alone, as well as confess to Strib’s murder.

Easy peasy…

Odella stood, as though to leave, when the Sphinx called out to her.

“Not going to leave us with a song tonight are you, Odella?”

There was a split second of silence, and then a cheer went up through the tavern. Odella smiled a small, pleased smile, and then she turned to me and winked.

“Listen closely, and maybe you’ll learn something interesting.”

She sashayed up to the bar, and those still there made room for her, removing bar stools and people too drunk to move themselves. She took a seat on the bar with a graceful hop, and she hovered in the air for a moment before settling lightly as though gravity meant nothing to her.

She signaled to a man on the opposite side of the room. He was as out of place here as a fish out of water, wearing a button down shirt of Oxford blue, with an almost scale pattern of lines that shimmered dully in the low light. The pants were black, pressed, and fitted perfectly to his lean, almost slender frame, with a wide, brown leather belt cinched snug over his hips. His shoes were black leather Oxfords, and he moved much in the same way Lia did. Like water given life, all grace and flow.

As her name crossed my mind, I turned to look at her, and was met with an expression that moved between various emotions faster than flood waters: longing, disgust, sadness, and hope. I had to turn away from such turbulent emotions, as they had the feeling of something not meant to be witnessed so openly without invitation.

When I turned back to the man, he was watching Lia with an equally intense expression, though far more sad. His eyes were a blue so light they were nearly white, set in a diamond-shaped face with cheekbones that stood out prominently above sunken cheeks. His hair was so pale it bordered on translucent, and was longer on top, carelessly brushed back and curling at the end. The rest was short, fading to a length that was shorn to his skull the last inch or so.

He broke eye contact with Lia, though he’d never broken his stride, and made his way to the bar. The man didn’t join Odella on the bar itself, but bowed to the wildly clapping and howling crowd, and produced a violin from thin air with a flourish of his hands.

Just like magic, Primal Brain noted.

You don’t say, Rational Brain added, sarcastically.

Shut up, Primal Brain said sullenly.

Odella cleared her throat. It was nothing more than a small sound, barely audible, and yet it commanded the entire room to fall silent, and set everyone on the edge of their seats in anticipation.

Odella then murmured something to the man, who nodded, and brought the violin up into a ready position.

It only took a couple of notes for me to recognize the tune: Go Tell it on the Mountain, which I found to be an odd choice for a vampire. But what he was playing was not the lively song I’d been raised with, and was almost set to a funeral march pace, the strings almost weeping as he drew the bow across them with aching slowness.

Then she began to sing, her voice clear as a bell and sorrowful as death.

 

Go tell the preacher

Go tell the preacher

Go tell the preacher

 

While the lyrics were different, I was still unsure why a vampire was singing something so obviously religious…

Then the man dragged the bow across the strings, the screeching wail setting all the hairs on my body at attention.

 

That everybody’s dead

 

Until the last line.

My eyes widened, though she kept hers closed as she sang.

 

The man came to the village

And charmed all the women

They started disappearin’

One by one

 

They searched for days and weeks, but

Their husbands could not find them

Their mothers were a-mourning

For their daughters’ souls

 

They found where he was hiding

Deep inside the forest

He’d dug them all a grave

And, laid the girls to rest

 

When the day was over

And darkness fell around them

The women all woke up, though

They were not the same

 

Time for a feast, girls

Time for a feast, girls

Time for a feast, girls

Drink until they’re dead

 

The villagers were screaming

Their throats were all ripped open

Fangs flashed in the moonlight

And the blood, it fell like rain

 

One of the women

Came to her senses

Her husband’s lifeless body

Laying in her lap

 

She ran through the forest

Back toward the village

She went right to her house

But could not enter there

 

She called out for her children

But they would not come near her

They sensed something was different

With their mother, drenched in blood

 

She fell to her knees, there

Her red eyes full of tears

Hollow words, they passed her lips

Her voice so harsh and raw

 

Go tell the preacher

Go tell the preacher

Go tell the preacher

That everybody’s dead

 

Leave upon the sunrise

Faster than the Spring winds

For if the man catches you

You’ll both be dead, as well

 

Then the man appeared, and

He pulled her up and held her close

With one last look at the children, said

“Catch me if you can.”

 

The children did not answer

And waited for the dawn, then

They ran down to the church

And, crying said the words

 

Go tell the preacher

Go tell the preacher

Go tell the preacher

Everybody’s dead

 

I hadn’t known I was holding my breath until the last bittersweet note died on the air as Odella had all those year ago. The despair, which had the weight of centuries behind it, was dizzying, and too much for my brain to handle.

“I can’t breathe,” I whispered hoarsely, as someone asked; “Are you alright?”

“Bathroom,” was all I managed to get out, my throat closing around the words as my stomach heaved.

“Down the hall,” the same voice said, the words faraway.

My vision narrow, and not able to see too far in front of me, I stumbled my way down the hall and into a door that had a big ‘W’ on it, which I hoped didn’t mean something else in supernatural taverns.

I barely managed to make it into a stall before I started heaving, my body trying to physically purge what my mind would never be able to.

I don’t know how long I knelt there in front of the toilet, the cold, hard tile floor digging into my knees. The door to the bathroom opened and closed as few times while I was there, but the last time the soft footfalls ended right outside my stall door.

“You going to be okay?” Odella asked, her usually upbeat, somewhat manic voice was softer, and full of concern.

“How could you go on?” I choked out, tears running down my face, my forehead resting on the corner of the chilled, metal toilet paper holder.

Clothing rustled as she made some small movement, perhaps a shrug. “How could I not? Those first years you are dedicated to your Master. Even though I’d broken free for only a moment, to warn my children, that wasn’t the case from then on out. It was nearly a century of blood, and of course death, before I left him. By then, time had dulled the pain to something more bearable, though of course I never forgot.”

A heavy silence followed her words, and belied the nonchalance she was trying to project.

“What were their names?” I whispered.

“Balfour was my son, and Myra was my daughter. My husband’s name was Tobias.” Her voice was hesitant and quiet, as though if the words left her lips they’d fly away with the memories of them, never to return. In that moment she’d shared something deeply personal with me, and though I forgot names as easily as women lost bobby pins, I held onto the names with everything my mind had.

“I have to leave; dawn approaches. Will you be okay?” she asked.

“I’ll be fine, you can go,” I croaked, but made no move to get up just yet.

“Okay. Get some rest, and sweet dreams,” she said, and laughed, the sound like shattered glass.

The door opened and closed, though I didn’t hear her footsteps. It was a long moment before I heaved myself off the floor, which in retrospect was now really creeping me out, because public restrooms were not known for their cleanliness.

I flushed the toilet, and left the stall to wash my hands. I was still shaky, but judging by the noise outside of the bathroom, everything had returned to normal. I slipped out of the bathroom, and looked both ways down the hall. Some small flicker of movement caught my attention. It was at the end of the hall, and of their own accord my feet began moving that way.

You’re acting like every girl in horror films with too much curiosity that we make fun of, Rational Brain warned.

It wouldn’t hurt just to peek, Primal Brain said.

Ration Brain threw up their proverbial hands. Morons, the both of you.

I tiptoed down the hallway, and as I passed the men’s room and grew closer to a corner, raised voices filtered in between the music from the tavern.

“Not what—“

“—swore you’d follow through!”

“You didn’t say—“

I made it to the corner, but I didn’t dare take a look around it. One of the voices was Celinwel’s, and boy was she ever pissed. The other voice I didn’t recognize, was brushing Celinwel, and her concerns, off.

“Look, he’s dead. What does it matter?”

“It matters because whoever killed him didn’t leave any evidence behind!”—I wondered briefly how she knew that—“Which means they’re going to suspect me now. I gave you what to plant on his body after he was dead so someone else would take the fall.”

“I don’t know why you’re so upset, jeez. Just calm down.”

“Calm down?!” she said, her voice a strangled screech. “When that great green lump has his healers do a thorough examination of Stribs, they’ll find the sedative that I gave him. Without the other evidence, it all just looks like me!”

“You don’t know that. Stribs used to do all kinds of drugs. Why would this be any different?”

At this point I took a quick glance around the corner, and Celinwel had her hands balled into tight fists at her side, looking up at the other woman. Nothing struck me as particularly supernatural about her: she had an oval, plump face, framed by thick, dirty-blond hair in a side part, held back from her face with two marbled black and brown clips. Her nose turned up slightly at the end, which she held in the air in a rather haughty nature, and looked down it at Celinwel. She raised a single, thin, pale eyebrow at the angry Gnome.

“Because it’s not a drug you take for any reason, except when a healer is doing a healing on you.”

“So?” the other woman asked, and shrugged her meaty shoulders. She shifted her weight to jut out a fleshy hip, and moved her long, forest green cardigan out of the way to rest her hand there. Her medium rinse jeans with stylish holes and tears were tucked into knee-high, burnt umber boots. When she tossed some of her hair over shoulder, it revealed an ample chest barely contained beneath a dove gray top.

When Celinwel didn’t answer immediately, she continued. “Won’t that just mean it’ll implicate who you wanted to in the first place? Who knows, maybe he really did do it?”

“Even if he did, what makes you think he’d tell them that?”

“Some misguided sense of love for you, maybe?”

Celinwel snorted.

At least she has some kind of self-awareness to know she’s not an entirely likable person, Rational Brain observed.

But if it wasn’t her…Primal brain said.

“Point is, we had a deal. I take care of your ‘problem’, and you take care of mine.”

“And I still say it was taken care of, even if it wasn’t how you wanted it done.”

“I—“

Someone behind me and out in the bar area dropped a glass, shattering it, and it caused Celinwel and the woman to look over toward me. All eyes widened, and my brain scrambled along with my feet to get back down the hallway.

I severely underestimated how fast Gnomes were.

She hit me right behind my knees and tackled me to the ground after barely more than two steps. A small hand grabbed my shoulder, and turned me over, slamming said shoulder into the floor. Pain jarred through my shoulder and rattled my teeth. I bit my tongue and tasted blood.

When I opened my eyes, a dagger hovered a mere inch away from vision. My breath wooshed from me faster than the air from an over-filled balloon punctured by a fork wielding toddler.

“Have you been eavesdropping, little Ord?” she growled.

It shouldn’t have, but the whole situation must have finally rattled some morbid humor loose from my brain, because I laughed.

“’I ain’t been droppin’ no eaves sir, honest,’” I quoted, and giggled like a madwoman.

Celinwel’s dagger-free fist connected with my chest in a quick, powerful downward punch, and knocked the wind from me, chasing away my amusement as quickly as it’d found me.

My eyes watered, and I looked up at the Gnome straddled over my chest, dagger still more than an idle threat not far from my left eye.

“Celinwel!” someone barked from behind me, and her head jerked up. It sounded like the Sphinx, but I wasn’t risking a glance to see for sure.

“What?” she spat, annoyed at the interruption.

“She has eaten and drank beneath my roof. By our law I am honor-bound to protect her from all threats, up to and including killing whatever is threatening her if said threat cannot be dissuaded. I already smell her blood, Celinwel. Do not test me.”

The dagger dipped a mere centimeter at the speaker’s pronouncement, which sounded as though he was quoting something, and I swallowed a lump in my throat. He didn’t sound particularly motivated on my behalf to kill Celinwel, but his honor seemed like it’d be reason enough.

Won’t do me much good if we die before he can get to us, Rational Brain squeaked.

She considered his words, emotions flashing across her face faster than the rapids of the waterfall in springtime: anger, fear, defiance, and finally grudging resignation. She’d weighed the potential threat to her life against that of killing me, and I suppose she didn’t like her chances.

The dagger vanished to locations unknown, and she turned her attention back down to me.

“This isn’t over, Ord,” she growled, placing emphasis on ‘Ord’.

“It sure isn’t if you don’t stop calling me Ord,” I mouthed off before I could stop myself.

I didn’t need to see, or hear, the Sphinx shake his head. Disbelief at my stupidity was as palpable on the air as the smell of ale.

He and Knight can start a, ‘Why are we protecting this nitwit’ club, Primal Brain snickered.

If looks could murder, I’d have been dead twice over and once more for good measure. Celinwel was none too happy, but she moved away so fast I wasn’t actually sure if she’d jumped or ran. She was next to the other girl, whose eyes I could now see in the low light of the hallway were a baby blue with a glint of crazy. Much in the same way a pond looks safe before a gator breaks the surface and drags you to the bottom to drown you.

I might not have been able to picture her as the murdering or murder-for-favor type until I saw that look in her eyes.

“We’re leaving,” Celinwel said, and they headed back down the hallway to where they’d been arguing. A moment later the backdoor slammed, followed by a gust of cool dawn air.

As I lay on the floor, not quite willing to move so soon after my near-death experience, I wasn’t sure the situation could get much worse unless someone had called my parents to come pick me up.

“I had Thea call Knight.”

I was wrong.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author: lotwordsmiths

Hello, there! I'm Toni, and I've been writing and reading primarily fantasy stories most of my life. What really set me on the path to be a writer was my 6th grade English teacher, Mrs. Thomas, who told me she could see me as an author some day. I made Legends of the Wordsmiths to share my stories, and hopefully, (someday), the stories of others, too.!

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