Tales of the Graveyard Shift: The Greasy Goblin ~~ Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten



As I made my way home, I stopped and grabbed some food for Slies and myself from work. The openers made no comment on my disheveled, exhausted appearance. They merely handed me my food and drinks, and nodded, not willing to engage me in conversation. It was good to see my usual resting bitch face was still enough to strike fear into the hearts of mere mortals.

I’d hit overload. My mind was empty and my body was floaty, as though I was made from nothing more than wisps of a cloud, breaking apart in the face of the rising sun. The drive through town was uneventful, and after I pulled into my parking spot I turned off the car and dropped my head back against the headrest.

Sleepiness made my limbs and eyelids heavy, and I had to yank the latter open before I fell asleep in my car. I grudgingly gathered my things, locked my car, and trudged to my apartment door. With my arms full, I toed my shoes off, and went to kick at the door to get Slies to open it. He opened the door before I could connect with it, and I lurched through the entrance as I met with no resistance.

He deftly side-stepped me as I caught myself just over the threshold before I wrecked myself.

“Oh, good, you brought food,” he said, and took everything from my hands before I could drop it. He took the food inside, leaving me standing near the entrance, empty-handed, blinking against the sleepiness trying to drag me under.

I grumbled something incoherent—even to myself—and grabbed my shoes from outside and put them on the mat just inside the door. I shuffled toward the kitchen and stopped like a deer caught in headlights.

Slies had been a busy boy.

Gone was my futon, replaced by some black leather monstrosity that took up almost the entire tiny room, the rest of which was occupied by a large-ish television screen.

“Um…” I prompted, and gestured languidly toward the living room.

Slies was busy digging in the paper bag and didn’t answer, but he’d heard me, as his ears curled in anticipation for more shrieking. In all honesty I didn’t have the energy, but there was something working its way from the back of my brain, trying to tell me to make an issue of this. I was just too tired to know why.

“So, did ya learn anything new?” he asked, and took a bite out of some kind of sausage breakfast sandwich.

My brain shifted gears at his words. “Yeah, it wasn’t Celinwel,” I said, and started shuffle-stepping toward the bedroom door.

Slies appeared in front of me, crumbs from the sandwich across his mouth, and I almost stepped on him. I jerked to a stop to keep from doing just that, as he finished chewing and swallowed.

His expression was more curious than shocked, as he tilted his head slightly to his right. “Whatcha mean she didn’t do it?”

I sighed, cast a weary glance at the couch, and headed over to sit down. I sank down into the buttery softness of the cushions, and though they were cool to the touch, they warmed immediately beneath my body heat. I groaned in pleasure and closed my eyes. Slies gave me a few moments, almost long enough for me to fall asleep, before he cleared his throat.

I cracked open one bleary eye. He was in front of me with one eyebrow raised and his arms crossed over his chest. At least he was fully clothed.

I went through the arduous process of recounting the night, from the time I got to work until Celinwel left. Nothing else was of note, really, other than Thea’s warning, which was more for me than anyone else.

“So she was in cahoots with the human, and some guy?” he asked, more to himself than me.

Still, I lolled my head forward in the laziest of nods. “Seems so,” I mumbled, my chin against my chest.

“No mention of who this mystery dude might be?”

“Mm, nope,” I said, making a little popping sound with my mouth with the letter ‘p’.

Slies harrumphed, and his footsteps moved away over the carpet. Next thing I knew a blanket was being thrown over me, and I mumbled some form of thanks before drifting off into blissful sleep.


I awoke with a major crick in my neck and back. The new couch was comfy, I’d just ended up in an odd position. The sun’s last rays of the day streamed in through the line of holes in the apartment blinds. How did I manage to be in a perfect position to have them right across my eyes, like some kind of blinding death ray from a B monster flick? It was just my usual luck.

Luck of the cursed, maybe, Rational Brain noted scathingly.

Coming over to see my side of things, eh? Going all superstitious and paranoid? Primal brain chortled.

In your dreams, Neanderthal.

“Finally up, then?” Slies’ voice cut through the brain chatter.

I groaned in response and sat up, my couch quilt lovingly sewn by my father’s crotchety old grandmother was tangled around my legs. It’d been a gift to my parents on their wedding day with the note; ‘Since your wife can barely keep your house clean, I assumed she doesn’t know how to sew.’ Unsurprisingly, my mother had jumped at the second chance to get it out of her house when I moved out for college. The first had been my brother, who had refused to take it with him.

“It might behoove you to know,” Slies began, and I turned to look over at him as he leaned against the counter, “that Gozuk had Celinwel captured, and the gnome king has stated that if his daughter is not returned within the next three—well, two now—hours, he’ll waste no time waging a war to end all wars,” Slies informed me, in a bored tone, picking at his nails with one of his daggers.

I blew out a sigh. “Well, that sucks for her.” It was difficult for me to sympathize with someone who recently tried to kill me.

He nodded. “Sure does. Of course, it sucks for you, too, because she was supposed to work tonight and you’ll be a person short. Well, I guess if she dies you’ll be short all her shifts. Combine that with being short for all of Stribs’ shifts, and you’re looking at one hell of a week. Probably two or three until you can hire someone else.” He stretched, dagger still in hand, but when his hands came back down to slip inside his pants pockets, the dagger was gone.

I spluttered. “You make it sound like I have a choice.”

Slies smiled a particularly nasty smile that immediately sent a cramp through my belly. I was not going to like this.

“Well, the gnome king has demanded your presence to help establish his daughter’s innocence, as per the conversation you overheard. However, you’re technically under goblin protection at the moment, so he can’t force you to appear without kidnapping you from under us. Gozuk won’t go out of his way to make sure you’re there because he hates Celinwel, and will use any excuse to put her head on a pike—literally.”

“But…” I prompted. I was too damn tired to try and figure out political machinations I couldn’t work my way through if I was awake, and fueled by enough caffeine to power a legion of people trying to get through a 24-hour gaming marathon.

“But,” he continued, not making me work too hard for it, bless his little green soul, “Gozuk never relayed anything about stopping you if you tried to show up on your own.”

“That sounds like a lot of work for someone I don’t particularly like, and who doesn’t like me in return,” I said, weighing which would cause me more work in the long-run.

Ugh, why can’t people just not get themselves killed and have their murderous, yet innocent, girlfriends get captured by goblin kings, Primal Brain muttered.

Do you even comprehend what you’re thinking when you think it? Rational Brain asked.

“True, but she can break down a grill like nobody’s business,” Slies pointed out.

“Fair enough,” I grumbled, and threw the blanket off my legs. I checked the time, and of course I had four-ish hours before I had to be to work. By my estimation—utilizing my limited knowledge of how gnome-goblin hostage situations function—I had enough time to try and save Celinwel. Unfortunately.

I looked down at my work clothes and wrinkled my nose.

“Yeah, these things aren’t formal affairs, but that probably isn’t appropriate,” Slies said, while regarding the grease stains on my shirt and pants.

“Fine, I guess I’ll change, but I don’t have anything more formal than jeans,” I warned.

“Jeans will do,” Slies said.

I grumbled as I stood up, and then I shuffled into the bathroom to get ready for something I was going to regret.


About forty minutes later we were back at The Salty Wench. Slies explained it was the closest thing to neutral ground they had, since Dymas would summarily kill anyone who harmed anyone else under his roof. It was an ancient custom to give protection to those who eat and drink in your home, and Dymas considered The Wench as such. He didn’t care about any of us, one way or the other, he just didn’t want rampaging supernaturals destroying all he worked for. Having neutral ground for the various factions to meet on was Dymas’ compromise to paying property taxes. Apparently, even supernaturals weren’t immune to bureaucracy. Go figure.

Krot was nowhere to be seen, and instead a grumpy goblin guard paired with an equally grumpy gnome guard opened the door and let us in. Both were in run-of-the-mill, medieval, ‘we’re going on a castle raid’ armor. Nothing was visible on them except dark eyes and an air of irritation that wafted off them like stink from garbage.

The door closed behind us, leaving us in the semi-dark of the entry hall.

“For meetings such as this, the kings tend to revert to the old ways, no matter how modern they might be otherwise,” Slies said, not bothering to keep his voice low.

“Just like a goblin to mock tradition,” said a voice in a scornful tone from the main room.

“And just like a gnome to cling to them so fiercely he’d let his own daughter die,” Slies said, and angry silence followed. “Granted,” he continued, apparently unable to help himself, “she is a raging bitch.”

There was a scuffling from the other room, and raised, angry voices all talking over one another. When I looked down at Slies, he had a half smile on his lips, immensely pleased with himself.

“If you get me killed because of your smart mouth, I’ll haunt you,” I said, deadpan.

“You couldn’t haunt your way out of a wet paper bag, let alone enough to make me miserable,” he paused, and chuckled, “but I’ll do my best.”

Hardly reassuring, Rational Brain said.

I simply scowled at him.

He made his way into the main room, and when I was able to take in the whole of it, it looked like an episode of West Side Story meets World of Warcraft. Dymas was sitting on the other side of the bar. He must have grabbed a stool from somewhere, because his feet were propped up on the bar, and he was filing his already wickedly sharp claws.

Not so subtle threat display, Primal Brain noted.

Both sides were a grumbling, seething mass of fury, and all that was missing was a wrestling ring and an easily distracted referee so one king could murder the other and walk away with their hands clean. I recognized the other goblins from when I’d been summoned to view Stribs’ corpse, though only one of them was focused more on his fellow goblins than the gnomes. Zeec, I think his name was, the healer. His interest was more on Gozuk, and even at a distance, I could see his right eye twitch.

Given the situation, though, his wonky behavior wasn’t what drew my attention. The gnomes were what grabbed that.

Where the goblins were more mafia, the gnomes came off more like the scum of Wall Street. Book smarts versus street smarts. The kind of people that screwed old ladies out of their retirement. I’d like to say I could see the family resemblance between the king and Celinwel, but in all honesty all the gnomes looked alike. Did that make me racist (species-ist)? The biggest difference was the hair style: his was short and spiky, as well as growing out of his ears, and his nose was bulbous and took up most of his face.

My overall nervousness boiled down to the fact that I was surrounded by super-pissed short beings who could slice and dice me with their copious number of blades before I could blink an eye. My only option, as we’d discussed on the way over, was to let Slies be my representative.

Oh, how the not-so-mighty have fallen. I’d gone from hoping I’d make it out of this alive, albeit slightly maimed, to hoping for a quick death instead of evisceration—given the average height of those who wished for said death.

“Slies, why are you here?” Gozuk asked, his voice like the rumbling of the earth before it swallowed you whole.

Slies made a low, scraping bow, with one hand across his mid-section, and the other with his palm forward and away from his body. “Simply following protocol. Holly decided to attend the meeting, and, as her duly appointed—by you—protector, I simply came along for the ride,” he said, maintaining his position.

Gozuk’s eyebrows were low and knotted over eyes that never wavered from Slies, whose head remained tilted down along with his gaze. His long ears curled, and the green of the tips deepened, which I guessed was the equivalent of human ears reddening. His mouth was a thin, compressed line, and his nostrils flared.

“It’s a little more self-serving than that,” I said, diverting the goblin king’s angry stare before he set Slies on fire from its intensity. My stomach churned as I came under scrutiny, and I did my best not to cower.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, at the same time the gnome king said, “Typical Ord.”

Despite my desire to remain among the living, my head snapped over to meet the eyes of the gnome king. “Call me Ord again, short stack, and I’ll bury you in a hole so deep, even your earth-dwelling subjects can’t hear you scream,” I growled.

He titled his head back, and looked down his nose at me, which was impressive under the circumstances. His mouth curled on one side, and his lower lip was pushed up, curving his mouth downward.

“So keep your slurs to yourself, and maybe I can help keep your daughter from dying so we don’t have to train a new hire,” I said, spitting the words at him like a hissing cat.

His eyes narrowed, and though he didn’t nod, he simply turned back to Gozuk, ignoring me. Which was fine, considering my legs had turned to jelly and I was ready to vomit.

“You would protect such a crass creature, Gozuk,” the gnome king said, his eyebrows lifted slightly with disdain, and eyes relaxed and filled with contempt.

“Who I choose to protect is my business, Dakwor.”

Dakwor looked me over from the corner of his eye. “Yes, and her manners suggest she’s just as illegitimate as your business.”

Before my head could explode from the sudden surge in blood pressure and rage I experienced, Slies laughed.

“If you want to talk illegitimate, I have hard-proof of your daughter’s misadventures into the unlicensed pharmaceutical business, which she dragged a few of your cronies into,” Slies said.

The gnome king flushed and his eyes narrowed, but he regained his composure quickly and threw his shoulders back.

“My daughter simply wanted to try her hand at entrepreneurship before settling down to the family business. Where’s my daughter, Gozuk? Or have you already dispatched of her, and are ready to agree on the terms of engagement?” he asked, his fists clenching and unclenching at his side.

I’m assuming they’re not talking about the marriage type of engagement, Primal Brain said.

They’re talking about war, Rational Brain said, tone grave. While I don’t value most humans very highly, this wouldn’t bode well for the ones we actually like.

Not to mention we might lose our job. I mean, two dead employees in just about as many days as we’ve worked there doesn’t look too good, Primal Brain noted.

That too, Rational Brain agreed.

Considering they were rarely in agreement, we were up shit creek without a paddle.

“The little wench is no more dead than your pitiful soul, Dakwor,” Gozuk said, and held his hand up in a lazy, couldn’t give a shit if you paid me, gesture.

The comment didn’t appear to reassure Dakwor, which let me know just how much Dakwor thought of his soul and what he knew of his daughter’s behavior.

The crowd of goblins parted like the green sea, and from their center they dragged a squirming bundle of pissed off Celinwel. Rope bound her entire lower body, except her feet, and her mouth was covered with run-of-the-mill silver duct tape, which would not be a fun experience pulling off later.

When her eyes landed on me, she started trying to yell behind the tape and wriggle toward me. Odds were even between her trying to kill me again and cursing me to the deepest pit of hell, or if she was asking for help. Considering her constant state of nastiness toward me, she’d probably kill me even if it spited her and she wound up dead as a result.

“I want my daughter released, now,” Dakwor growled, and he bared his teeth in a feral snarl. His minions behind him rustled like an angry wind, making their metal armor rattle and leather armor creak.

“Of course, there’s just the matter of clearing up her killing my son, and you can all be off back to your little holes in the ground,” Gozuk said, unconcerned by the angry mob of gnomes.

Slies nudged me, and I started, as I’d been focused on the back and forth between the kings.

“Uh, I’m pretty sure she didn’t kill him,” I said.

Gozuk’s head turned slowly to me, and he did not look happy at my interruption. Dakwor and Celinwel scowled, but I think that was simply because they both hated me.

I held my hands out in front of me. “Don’t get me wrong,” I continued, “she definitely had a plan to do so, but someone else got to him first.”

“Who?” Gozuk asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

“See? You’ve got nothing but an overheard conversation, and—“

“Actually,” Dymas interrupted, and everyone in the room froze, having forgotten where they were, “I can confirm that Celinwel came to The Salty Wench during the time Stribs was murdered, because I distinctly remember kicking her out. She was peddling her, ‘entrepreneurship’, and that will not be tolerated at The Wench.”

Gozuk clenched his jaw. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

Dymas shrugged. “You didn’t ask, but I won’t have undue violence unleashed in The Wench, no matter how much the receiver of such a punishment may deserve it,” he finished, and stared Celinwel down.

If she could have sunk through the floor, she probably would have done so, if only to avoid such a stare.

“Also,” he said, and looked at me, “the human may not have much in the way of manners, but she’s telling the truth. Or at least as much of it as she knows. There’s another in the room who knew the truth, and I can smell their fear as surely as rain falls from the sky in winter.”

“Who?” Gozuk and Dakwor asked.

Dymas smiled and enigmatic smile. “Remove the tape from Celinwel’s mouth, and she might just be willing to tell you, if only to save her own skin. The selfishness of a continued existence at the expense of another’s life is an easy choice for someone of her moral caliber.”

Gozuk swung a narrowed gaze to Celinwel, and snapped his fingers. The goblin closest to her—Brikt, the one who looked like he ate gym equipment for breakfast—reached down to pull the tape from her mouth, but Zeec jumped forward and cold-cocked the other goblin. Zeec then pulled a knife from his belt, raised it in the air, and lunged for Gozuk.

Between one blink and the next, every goblin within reaching distance of Gozuk, plus Slies and Dymas—who had moved too fast for my human sight to follow—had the business end of a blade aimed for every vital spot imaginable on Zeec.

Zeec was breathing heavy, and his eyes were brimming with hate at Gozuk.

“Well, that answers that question,” Dymas purred.

“Why, Zeec?” Gozuk asked. Not in a disappointed tone, or one of puzzlement, sadness, or any other emotion. Gozuk might as well have asked him what he’d eaten for breakfast for all the care he had for the answer. Like when we ask a customer how their day is going; it’s nothing more than forced small talk. In all likelihood, he simply wanted to know what drove Zeec through his horrible decision making process, so he could avoid such a thing again.

“She said if we killed both of you, we could move in on some of the territory, and she’d share the profit with me. Not to mention, she liked me more than Stribs, anyhow,” he said, belief in his words permeating every word.

What a poor, pitiful fool. She used him like a convenient Kleenex, Rational Brain said.

“Zeec, you well and truly are an idiot,” Slies said, almost sadly, and pulled his blade back. He then motioned for a couple of the goblins to move forward, and they disarmed and bound him.

Slies sighed and watched the spectacle. “Healers are a bitch to replace, too.”

“I wish I could’ve offed that pissant, though. Always calling me low class and laughing at me, throwing rocks and getting people to beat me up. He deserved what he got; I just wish it would’ve been me that did him in,” Zeec said and glowered. “I wouldn’t have been as nice as them.”

“Get him out of my sight,” Gozuk said, fury as cold as the mountains in winter coating his words.

I moved aside as they hauled him past me, six of them carrying him on their shoulders like pallbearers with a casket, and he caught my eye.

“This is all your fault, you fuckin’ Ord.”

That was the last straw. I was tired, my life was being turned on its head because some dumb goblin went and got himself killed, and this all could have ended if I’d just kept my mouth shut and let Gozuk have Celinwel. So in a way, he was right, and that made me even madder.

I slapped him so hard I thought I’d broken my hand against his thicker-than-a-human’s jaw, and the sound managed to echo in a space it shouldn’t have been possible. It rocked the goblin’s head back, the piercings in his ear jangling at the sudden movement, and he cursed at me as the other goblins continued on their way as though nothing had happened.

Laughter bubbled behind me, and I turned to find Slies holding his midsection trying to not laugh while Dymas’ eyes danced with merriment. My hand throbbed, but I refused to acknowledge it, and give them the satisfaction of knowing just how useless the gesture had been. I was pretty sure it hurt me more than Zeec.

Idiot, Rational Brain said, exasperated.

Worth it, Primal Brain countered.

Shut up, both of you, I grumbled.





Potato Chip Prompts ~~ Get Rich or Die Trying

At first, we thought the black liquid was oil, that we’d struck it rich and we’d be able to retire and live in leisure. We actually started writing down all the ways we’d spend the money. Our first choices were the usual, to buy a big house or a fast car. Jack decided to get a nice combination of both and go with a yacht. Then a strangled cry rose through the night from the direction of the oil, where we’d left Owen to guard the site.

Before we could do more than stand in response to the sudden noise, Owen burst through the treeline at the edge of the camp. He stumbled, fell, and rolled once down the small hill before coming to a halt, rocking back and forth on his back. His hands covered his face and he was keening, high and piteous, like a screaming rabbit. It sent goosebumps along my flesh, and raised the hairs all over my body. Our shadows were thrown large across him, making it difficult to see what was wrong. A couple of us moved, so the campfire light could illuminate him, and the bile rose in my throat at the sight.

His hands were burned, but not like that from a fire, but a steam-type burn. They were red and angry, like a lobster coming from the boiling pot still alive and thrashing. The skin and flesh were engorged and falling away from his hands. Between the trees rustling in the ominous wind and Owen’s moaning, we approached in trepidation. Rey got to him first, and with his hands trembling he reluctantly pulled Owen’s away from his face. It was something out of a nightmare.

His hands had only caught some of the damage, and he was missing the flesh over his right cheekbone. There was nothing left to save of his right eye, ear, and scalp, either, like they’d been blasted away.

He was babbling incoherently, and we leaned in close. We could only make out one word: run.

It was too late by then, we just didn’t know it yet. A roar echoed through the night like some slavering demon come up from the pits of hell, and my heart stopped. What broke through the treeline this time made Owen’s injuries look like sunshine, kittens, and happy thoughts.

Tales of the Graveyard Shift: The Greasy Goblin ~~ Chapter Nine

The conversation went as well as one might expect. There was lots of shouting, and plenty of expletives and name-calling. Knight’s hair was sleep tousled, which was the only difference in his appearance, and it didn’t help that he was consistently running his hands through it. His suit was just as wrinkled, and I wasn’t sure if this was his usual state of dress, or if I kept meeting him under rushed circumstances. I sat there, taking it all in, and when Knight paused to breathe I interjected:

“Don’t you want to know what I found out?”

His face resembled a teapot close to boiling over. “No! I do not! Stop with the interfering before you get killed.”

“I can’t.”

There was a moment where I thought his head might actually explode, but then he just stormed out of the sphinx’s office, muttering under his breath.

“Well, that was incredibly entertaining,” Thea said from her perch on the desk. Her legs hung over the side, swinging back and forth, and a manic smile donned her face. Well, I wasn’t actually sure she had many other expressions, but it suited her, somehow.

“Yes, Knight has always had a way with people,” the sphynx observed. He turned his attention to me. “We were never properly introduced, what with you telling me I should die and all, but my name is Dymas.”

I cringed, and held out my hand. “Holly.” We shook, and everything drained from me at once. “And I think I’m ready to go home now.”

“Understandable,” Dymas said. He motioned toward the doorway, and Krot lumbered into the room.

“Wotcher, Squawker?” Krot said, and stopped not too far from me, and laughed another big-bellied laugh.

“Krot,” Dymas said, half in reprimand and half to get his attention.


“Escort Ms. Holly out to her car, and keep your hands to yourself, if you please,” Dymas said, and held out a hand to help me to my feet.

When I stood, Thea hopped off the desk. “Which way ya headed?” she asked, her orange cat eyes bright with typical cat mischief and amusement.

“Uh, back toward town. The—,” and I stopped. I wasn’t sure what all I was getting into, or who these people might be affiliated with, but I didn’t want to just outright tell them where I lived. “Yeah. Back toward town.”

“Excellent! Mind if I get a ride?”

“Sure,” I said slowly, and glanced at Dymas. He gave a small nod, which I hoped meant she wouldn’t murder me en route to my apartment.

“Thanks!” she said brightly, and exited the office.

“Well, I guess that’s my cue. Th—“

“Don’t thank me,” he said, but not in a, ‘I’m politely declining your thanks as most people do,’ kind of way.

I reared back a bit at his conviction.

He dipped his head. “There are those who consider it an insult. Beings as old as time. While still others take it to mean you owe them a debt. It’s best if you simply find another way to express your gratitude,” he cautioned.

I nodded, still not sure. It went against just about every single thing I was taught by my parents regarding manners, but what could I do? “Then, the way you handled the situation was exceptional?”

He nodded again. “That will do. Compliments are never a bad way to go.” Then he paused for a moment. “Usually, anyway. Rest well,” he said, and walked back around his desk. He sat down and straightened the papers knocked askew by Thea sitting on it, getting the already tidy desk back in perfect order.

I took this as my cue to leave, and headed out through the tavern, while Krot shuffled along behind me. It was now mostly empty with only a few hangers-on; my co-workers who hadn’t tried to slit my throat had shuffled by the office to bid me farewell and apologize for Celinwel’s behavior. When I went outside, Thea was next to my car but thankfully not sitting on it.

I pulled my keys out from my purse, which someone had retrieved from the table for me while I was in his office, trying to smooth out my frayed nerves.

“Watcha self, Squawker. Hate ta see ya die,” he said, and laughed. Then he shuffled away without waiting for my witty reply. Which was good, since I didn’t think I could muster enough brain power to do that if my life depended on it.

“So, Thea. Where am I taking you to?” I asked, and unlocked the car. I tossed my purse in the back while she climbed in the passenger seat, and then I got in as well and we were off.

“Just start heading toward town. I’ll tell you when to stop,” she said, watching the landscape go by as I drove.

O-kay. She’s a bit of an odd duck, Primal Brain observed.

More like an odd cat. I wonder what she is…Rational Brain wondered.

The drive from The Salty Wench was uneventful and silent. I wasn’t much of a jabberjaw with people I knew, let alone a complete stranger. Not to mention, I’d stuck my foot in my mouth enough for the last couple of days without doing so with one more supernatural.

We passed the woods by, their darkness almost a living, breathing thing that could reach out to snatch us right from the road. Despite the lightening of the pre-dawn sky, the threat of the shadows had me on edge. There hadn’t been much time to process everything I’d gone through so far. With Celinwel’s attack, I’d gone from thinking it was a little scary but somewhat cool, to just being terrified. It also might be the fact I was tired, and hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep the night before.

Add that to all the everything else going on, and, well, I couldn’t say I was coping terribly well.

A giant yawn cracked my jaw, and I did my best to keep my eyes open.

“Tired, huh?” Thea asked.

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the road.

“No worries, we’re almost there. Just stop at the road past The Tree, and you can drop me off there.”

Have you ever seen one of those moments where a television or movie character slams on the brakes when another character reveals something shocking? Well, that’s not what I did, because my brakes were on the sphincter-tightening side of reliability. However, it was a moment that certainly called for such a reaction.

“The Tree as in The Tree. The one in all the local legends?”

“One and the same!”

“Uh, are you sure you want me to drop you off there? I’ve heard…stories,” I finished lamely.

I know someone mentioned the witch older than the town itself, but not all the stories revolved around the Witch of the Wood. Some of them had to do with creatures, or even the trees themselves coming to life and killing unsuspecting humans. Not to mention, this stretch of road had more car accidents than any other in this county or the ones bordering ours—combined.

“Those stories are nothing more than humans trying to deny human cruelty. Just because the woods are a favorite spot for body dumps and suicides doesn’t mean there are monsters about,” my father grumped. He’d said this to me after I’d rushed home with another story told by a gaggle of teenage girls, trying to scare the nerdy outcast.

Now I knew better, though.

She waved me off. “Don’t worry about it. Of course,” she added slyly, “you could always come home with me, and you can hear the stories first hand from the Witch herself.”

I chuckled nervously. “I think I’ll pass this time.”

She shrugged. “Here it is.”

I pulled over across the oncoming lane, but tried to stay as close to the road as I could without someone swapping paint with me. I put the car in park, and peered out the window like a child peeking out from underneath the covers on their bed. People tend to feel invincible in their cars—look at all the road rage you’ve encountered that turned to fear once the other person gets out of their car—much like a child feels safe beneath their blanket. Watching the darkness that refused to shrink back from the lightening of the sky, and seemed to say, ‘Come into my parlor…”, all while licking its chops, it sent a shiver through my core.

No, Primal Brain said, the authority here, because that was what that the pitch black was: primal. It was the presence that made cavemen huddle close to their fires at night, though they knew no physical predator was near. What was in this dark wouldn’t hurt you physically—it would steal your soul.

Then there was the tree itself: a towering, old-growth evergreen, with ridges so deep in the wood they were like thousands of canyons, forged by the weather and time. It had a beauty all its own, like the whisper of the devil on your shoulder, convincing you to do what you know you shouldn’t. It was more subtle, but the more I stayed here on the side of the road, the more insistent it became. In combination with the darkness it was a one-two punch for my human mind.

If the darkness was the monster under my bed, the tree was the bully in high school that drove you over the edge of your ability to cope. Supernatural versus human.

I shuddered, a chill settling in my spirit. “Why would anyone live here?” I asked in a hoarse whisper, my voice sounding as though I’d spent the last hour screaming for dear life.

“Certain bits of land hold power for various reasons: death, belief, sacrifice, and so on. If someone knows how to tap into that, they can be very powerful indeed,” she said, though her voice was a distant droning despite being in the car with me.

Come to me…

A searing pain across my hand broke whatever hold the edge of the road had on me.

“What the fuck?” I shrieked, and looked down at my right hand. Four thin, bloody scratches raced in angry lines across the back of it. I looked over to Thea, who was shaking her hand as though it were sore. “Was that–?”

“Well, I couldn’t very well let you get out of the car and kill yourself, now could I? Pain was the fastest way to snap you out of it,” she said, far too chipper for what nearly just transpired.

“And what, besides the obvious, just happened?” I growled. I wasn’t too keen on the fact I’d nearly just killed myself because some tree wanted to get its jollies by watching me die.

Thea paused in thought, as though considering not only the question, but her words, and how much she could reveal.

“As I said, some land holds power and some people can tap into that power. When this is done, the forest becomes as much a manifestation of the being using it, as the person can take on the traits of the forest. Of course, like attracts like. A forest with dark power born of blood, black magic, battle, and so on, will attract beings with similar power. They…hunger for each other, the way two psychopaths in a relationship will feed off each other’s psychopathy.” She paused, making sure I was following her words.

I nodded. “The way people of similar natures congregate with each other, or how the mob mentality can take over.”

“Precisely. My Mistress has never been mistaken for a nice person, nor would you count her among the more altruistic witches living near Seattle. If she does something that seems nice, or helpful, it is only to further some plan that will benefit her.”

There was another long pause. “Why are you telling me all this? Won’t she be angry?”

Thea shrugged. “I am her servant, or what people today know as a familiar, and we are so bound that if she did not want the words to leave my lips, they would not. Such is her power over me. The fact I am able to tell you, either means she does not care that you know, or more likely that you haven’t enough power to do anything with the information,” she said, then added; “There will come a time when this information is useful to you. The Mistress chose me when I was human for my ability to See the future, or what we call a seer. You’ve landed in a large tangle of a supernatural mess, and you’ll have to pay the Mistress a visit. These are both words of caution and wisdom I offer you.”

I absorbed her words, and the implication that someday I would be taking a walk in those deep, dark woods. I shuddered, and the icy claws of fear gripped my heart.

She smiled a small, understanding smile that held all the cheer of someone watching the start of an execution. When the person being executed finally understood the doom looming over their heads, and terror shone bright in their eyes while they choked on their panic.

“If she’s so powerful, why isn’t she in charge around here?” I asked in a whisper, silently thanking the fact she wasn’t inclined, whatever the reason. Just the vibe from the forest told me this was not a person you’d want running the show.

This time, Thea’s smile was fiendish, as though she relished her next words. “Land will call to a witch, and they need it the way humans need water to survive. The more powerful the land, the more powerful the witch it attracts, like moths to a flame. The longer a witch remains with her piece of land, the more powerful she and the land become. She has been here so long, the Native Americans in this region have stories of my Mistress dating back to the first time they settled this land.

“That being said, there is always a price for magic. The more powerful the magic, the bigger the price. When a witch binds with her land, she has a limited area and time she can leave that land. The weaker the witch, the larger the range and longer the time she can be away from it. Covens circumvent this by pooling their power in their piece of land, the way the Seattle Coven does. Of course, this also means they cannot work magic of any magnitude without the cooperation of the others.”

“So it hobbles them,” I said.

She nodded.

I looked toward the forest again, then quickly back to Thea. “What of your Mistress?”

“The last time the Mistress left her forest was to steal me from my parents, but she didn’t have to go far. A few steps at the most. I…don’t remember much. She stole those memories from me, and keeps them somewhere safe, and away from me. I do remember my parents were explorers, foolishly coming too close to her territory, and I’m around 150-200 years old. It was right on the edge of the forest she took me, wooing me away from the safety of our camp. She knew what I was, though I hadn’t come into my powers yet.” She stopped, and looked at the tree. Ghosts and shadows moved through her eyes, and her youthful appearance suddenly took on an older, wearier image.

“My mother and father searched the woods for me, despite their fear and the words of caution from the others they traveled with. When their group found them three days later, my father was dead, murdered by my mother who’d been driven mad by her grief. ‘What have I done?’ she’d asked. Before they could stop her, she scrambled up to the highest branches of a nearby tree, and threw herself to her death. The Tree is her tree, and my parents aren’t buried far from it, their souls trapped inside the Evergreen by their anguish and grief.”

Her sorrowful words hung in the air like the musty smell of a long-abandoned house. When you’re a kid, magic is something amazing, and in stories it seems to do so much good. So far, from what I’d heard tonight from Odella and Thea, it brings nothing but pain and anguish.

“Any way,” she said, taking on her usual bright, cheerful tone, “thank you for the ride. Go home and get some sleep, if you can. From what I’ve Seen, you’re going to need all the rest you can get,” she said, and winked.

Before I could ask just what my future held, she got out of the car and walked around the front of it. Between one blink and the next, a larger than normal black, shorthair, rumpy Manx cat took her place. It stared at me for a moment, bright orange eyes taking me in, and then she turned and disappeared into the gloom.




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 Stribs’ 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 moving 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 and I staggered to my feet.

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 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.”


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 struggled to breath and not squirm. 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 us 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.




Tales of the Graveyard Shift: The Greasy Goblin ~~ Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

The Salty Wench was a tavern on the outskirts of town. The kind of place my parents would drive by and turn their noses up at. Even my Army father who’d been in dives down and dirty enough to make your hair curl would sniff disdainfully every time we passed. I couldn’t even pinpoint what it was that made my parents detest the place so much. There was an old-timey, wooden sign hanging from wrought-iron hooks off a weathered post. The sign itself read ‘The Salty Wench’ in curling, archaic letters, charred black against dark, aged and varnished wood.

Set back from the road was the tavern itself and the gravel parking lot, surrounded by towering evergreens. It looked as though it was plucked from every RPG starting location, as though if I walked inside someone would have a quest for me. Single-story, wooden, and with a rustic charm, the Yorkshire, lead-lined windows shone with a warm yellow light into the deep darkness. It was inviting, delightful, and beautiful.

Yet, disgust pervaded every iota of my being, and I wanted nothing more than to turn the car around and leave. Instead, I grit my teeth and parked in the lot next to Odella’s sleek, black sport’s car.

Run! Flee! Primal Brain howled.

Rational Brain raised an internal eyebrow. You’re making a scene, you know.

It’s gross! And dangerous! We must leave.

There won’t be any reasoning with her. Rational Brain sighed.

I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, eyes fixed on the dashboard display, while gripping the wheel as though I’d be swept out to a sea of panic if I let go.

“There’s a charm on the building,” Odella said.

I twitched, and tried to rip my fingernails off on the wheel in my haste to clench my hands into fists. I turned to face her, my eyes wide with shock and pain. She’d opened the door without me noticing, and bent over a little at the waist to meet my gaze.

Odella smiled a small, pleased smile, and her nostrils flared wide. Her ample chest expanded with a deep breath, and the material of the shirt strained to keep all of her contained. Her breasts were intimidating.

“Do you all have charms and spells to keep humans from noticing you guys?” I asked. I broke eye contact with The Intimidators, and gave the rest of her a once-over, but didn’t note any charms like Slies carried. Of course, she could have been keeping it concealed.

“Just those of us who can’t pass for human, or places where we’ll be gathering in large groups. The only reason you were able to drive onto the property was a combination of following me here, and the fact they can’t make the charm too strong, or people will drive off the road to avoid the lot.” She paused, and tilted her head, trying to catch my gaze.

I knew better now, and shifted my eyes to her chin. When her grin widened, it revealed her unnaturally sharp canines gleaming dully in the yellow-amber glow from the parking lot light. I swallowed against the hard lump lodged in my throat.

“Don’t worry, dear. You’re not on the menu tonight.”

Not precisely reassuring, Rational Brain mumbled, as she stepped back so I could get out of the car. I tried to move out of the car’s doorway to close it, but my feet remained firmly rooted in place.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, mischief dancing through her eyes like the flame of a candle in a stormy breeze. Then she leaned in and kissed me, full on the mouth.

My eyes widened again and I froze, too afraid to react let alone move, like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a wolf. Her lips were soft, and the kiss was gentle as a spring rain, but the hunger she held in check ran through the center of her being like a piano wire on the verge of snapping. Then I realized her lips were cold—the same temperature as the chilly night air.

I shuddered, and broke away from the kiss, and went to wipe my mouth on the back of my jacket sleeve. She reached up, fast as a snake striking, and grabbed my wrist. Her grip was strong as steel bent around my arm, like a bracelet that could crush my bones with just the slightest tightening of her slender fingers. I whimpered.

She leaned back in, nuzzling along my cheek and jaw until her mouth was near my ear. Her breath tickled the fine hairs on my skin as she spoke. “Now, now. If you do that, I’ll have to kiss you again, and this time I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to hold back,” she said, her voice low. “Our DNA allows temporary access, sort of like a stamp to get into a club. It marks you as belonging to one of us.”

“Us?” I asked, the word spoken so soft I wasn’t even sure I’d said it out loud.


Then my brain slammed into gear. “Belonging to?” This time the words were louder, and an edge of hysteria crept in, but I remained still.

“Just temporarily. We’d have to do something more…invasive for it to be permanent,” she reassured me cheerfully. She let go of my wrist, leaned back, and patted my hand.

I shuddered, and didn’t care to think further on that particular statement.

“Is it okay that I’m here? They don’t seem to want humans around,” I hedged queasily. Rational Brain thumbed through all the scenes of every horror and fantasy movies we’d ever seen, as well as all the books we’d read, and what a supernatural being could do to a human…Well, things weren’t looking all that great for my chances of survival.

“It’ll be fine,” she said, and waved away my concern. Despite her words, her shoulders were tense.

My stomach clenched. “I guess.”

Or not, Primal Brain fumed.

So glad you could rejoin the conversation, Rational Brain teased.

Primal Brain sent a particularly scathing glance toward Rational Brain. We’re not going to talk about that.

Rational Brain harrumphed.

Everyone elses cars were parked, and they were probably already inside. I was delaying the inevitable. I was teetering on a mental cliff, ready to fall down into a dark chasm, not knowing if I’d die once I hit rock bottom. One thing was for sure, though: nothing would be the same.

You’re in the dark, in front of a bar full of supernatural beings, and you were just kissed by a vampire. This is it. Walk away now, before you get in so deep the alligators are eating your eyeballs, Rational Brain said.

Uh, gross. Primal Brain scoffed. Also, this is the coolest thing since, well, ever that’s happened to us.

And dangerous, Rational Brain reasoned. Plus, weren’t you just freaking out?

That was the spell. Primal Brain sniffed. We have an agreement, anyway. We can’t just back out now: think about your brother.

You don’t care as much about him as you’re letting on. You just want to go on some cockamamie adventure.

Enough! I cut in on the bickering.

“Let’s go,” I said, looking down into the proverbial chasm and giving it the finger before taking the plunge.

“Fantastic!” Odella gushed, and linked her arm in mine. She practically dragged me away, and I did my best to close the car door and set the alarm before I was out of range.

She pulled me along to the door and I tried not to stumble through the gravel. Though the archway before the front door was lit, the short hallway leading to it was not. It held deep shadows like a cup, and only the small window in the door cast a dim light no mere mortal could see by.

In those shadows, a small lump moved.

“Eh, Odella? Whatcha got?” Whatever-it-was snorted. “Somefink tasty?”

“Keep your grubby fingers to yourself, Krot,” she said amiably, “this one’s mine.”

“That so?” Krot queried, and a small, hairy face moved into the light, its up-turned, pig-like nose giving a snort of derision. The small, beady black eyes shone with mischief, and something that edged too close to darker things played in his feral smile, displaying blunt, yellowed teeth. He took a couple of cursory sniffs, leaning further into the light. I couldn’t tell if he wore animal skins, or if he was just that hairy.

“I smell ya, a-sure. Mayhaps she wants my grubby fingers, eh?” He brought the aforementioned blunt digits into the light and gave me a finger-wiggle wave. “Think she’s a squawker?” He cackled.

“Try and find out, and you’ll lose more than your fingers,” I hissed, my ire rising along with the scaredy-cat hairs on the back of my neck.

Everyone you meet is a potential enemy. Show them no fear. Even if you’re quaking and shaking from it, give them nothing to use against you. Fear is the small death, the falling of the little rocks that lead to an avalanche that will crush the life from you. Now go, and refuse to give in to your terror.

My father’s words echoed through my mind. It was a speech he’d given to me at my seventh birthday party, when we’d all been given foam dart guns and sent out into the woods to wage elementary-school war on each other. I’d always been afraid of the woods, and of being shot in the eye with a dart. Both stemmed from my brother; the former because he told me there was a man in the woods who’d eat my fingers and toes if I went in, and the latter because he’d once shot me in the eye with a dart.

In a fit of parental, ‘get the fuck over it’, my father had arranged this little ‘game’ to force me to confront my fears. It didn’t work. I still hated the woods and those damn toy guns, but his words were great for slapping some steel in my yellow spine, and at least faking it till I wasn’t at risk of being eaten.

Krot’s cackle grew to an all-out belly laugh that had him doubled-over.

Well, if you can’t make them fear you, making them laugh seems to be a legitimate alternative, Rational Brain observed.

I imagine it’s something like a kitten hissing at a dragon. So absurd it has to be funny, Primal Brain agreed.

“Go on, then,” Krot said, sinking back into the shadows as though the blackness was a pool, and had substance. “But I’d keep this’n close. Not everyone’s as nice as me.”

“Of course, Krot. You’re the soul of benevolence,” Odella said, and unhooked our arms. She took my hand in hers and tugged me along.

Krot laughed again, but said nothing in return.

Odella opened the door, and a blast of warmth, laughter, music, and the smell of alcohol and too many bodies shoved into a small space assaulted my senses. Before I could get my proverbial feet beneath me, Odella had pulled me in, and the door shut with the smallest of thuds behind us.

The issue, I found, was that my eyes didn’t know where to look first, my nose couldn’t decide what to smell, and my ears what to listen to. It was a typical bar and grill, but not. Like someone had taken a medieval tavern, a modern pub, and a mythological encyclopedia, and thrown them all into a blender.

The area was a large, nearly open-spaced rectangle, inter-spaced with large, load-bearing pillars of smooth, grey stone. The crossbeams were age-worn wood, and wrapped with decaying, frayed rope. The chandeliers hanging from the ceiling in no clear pattern were a clash of ye olde times and contemporary. They were wrought iron, with three bars connected together at the top with what looked like an upside-down call bell, hanging from a chain. The bars then went down and ended in hooks, which hooked through a metal circle, where five, electric pillar candles ‘burned’ atop flat wrought iron discs. They cast a typical, candle-like glow on the area, but cut down on the potential fire hazard.

Televisions were shoved into various spaces, displaying everything from crime-drama to sports. All along the wall were deep mahogany bar tables and stools, while everywhere else had matching regular tables with chairs or benches, depending on the size.

To the left was a gigantic stone fireplace, where some kind of two-foot, naked fire woman danced along the twenty or so logs. Her hair was long and thick, and swirling around her body as she spun, pirouetted, and swayed her curvy hips to some kind of music only she could hear. Her skin and hair were in varying shades of orange, yellow, red, and pink—one minute like a brilliant sunset, and the next like a blazing wildfire. She threw her hair back and lifted her ample chest up as she jumped, and then slid back down to the logs on a fiery stripper pole she conjured from nowhere. Then she used the fire like some kind of stage curtain to tease and titillate. When she saw me staring, she winked her solid red eyes at me, like someone had removed all the facets from a couple of rubies and polished them smooth. I blinked, long and slow.

She was cheered on by a couple of leering Satyrs, dressed to the nines in button-down dress shirts rolled up to their elbows, suit vests, and ties. One had varying shades of gray from dove to slate, and it went well with his raven fur and hooves, small, white, curling horns, and the rosy-pale skin of his face, fingers, and pointed ears peeking through his thick, slicked-back hair. The other had a white shirt, and a dark blue tie and vest. His fur and hair were cinnamon, and he’d left his hair to curl around his face. His skin pleasantly tanned, and his hooves and horns were more of a coffee with heavy cream color. Every few seconds they’d try to snatch the dancing fire girl, and she’d blip out, like when you blow on a candle and it seemingly sputters in and out of existence. Then she’d reappear in another spot, with her laughing silently, as though mute, and the Satyrs roaring with glee and clapping each other on the back. Their snazzy attire was at odds with the lower half of their bodies, where thick, curling hair did little to conceal just how happy they were to watch the fire-woman.

That sight was one of many vying for my attention, but Odella decided I’d had enough time to adjust to my surroundings, and pulled me along toward the bar that was taking up almost the entire back wall. There were a few double-takes as I went by, and silence followed behind us like the wake of a boat. I kept my eyes on the back of Odella’s head, not willing to chance a look around.

I wasn’t normally one to tiptoe around, afraid of offending someone. I’m not saying I go out of my way to be a bitch, but for the most part people could take their hurt feelings and go nurse them in a corner. Here, though, it was a different story. Maybe looking someone in the eye would mean a fight to the death, or a certain hand gesture might mean I’m down for an orgy later. I just didn’t know, so I erred on the side of caution.

Then we reached the bar, and my eyes widened when I caught sight of the bartender.

He was tall, easily six and a half feet, with warm eyes that were a caramel color. When he smiled, his fangs were a shocking white against his skin the color of a dark espresso without the crema. A dark, charcoal mane—literally, a mane—was brushed back from his face, which was unwrinkled, but spoke of an age that stretched into the thousands of years. The mane disappeared into his t-shirt, which was, to my surprise, the color of boysenberries. His nose was turned down, cat-like, with the darker, single line versus a human’s double philtral ridges leading down and splitting his upper lips. He didn’t have any whiskers, that I could see, but everything from the neck down was that of a well-muscled lion-man. Human hands, with slightly knobbier knuckles ended in sharpened, non-retractable, thick claws. The paler, tawny fur over his arms shone, glossy in the low light, and he had tufts of fur at his elbows. Amber eyes, with round, widened pupils gazed back at me through the dark, and rounded, furry ears twitched in my direction.

The silence in the bar was thunderous, and I dared not look away from his gaze, or even draw a breath.

Then he spoke; “A murderer is condemned to death. He has to choose between three rooms. The first is full of raging fires, the second is full of assassins with loaded guns, and the third is full of lions that haven’t eaten in three years. Which room is safest for him?” His voice was a low rumble, like thunder grumbling in the distance.

“Are we talking about regular lions, or supernatural ones?” I asked. I knew the answer, but my usual riddle rulebook was thrown out the window in the presence of beings that shouldn’t exist. I’d gotten a little too obsessed with a certain trilogy in middle school, and decided to memorize an obscene number of riddles in case I came across any evil creatures lurking in caves, carrying all-powerful rings. Also, I apparently hated the idea of being popular, and decided instead that annoying my classmates with riddles they couldn’t answer was the best way to get friends.

He smiled again, though this time it was less feral, fangs, and eat your heart, and more amusement. “Normal.”

“Then it’s the lions. Lions—normal lions—who haven’t eaten in three years are dead.”

“Excellent,” he said, and meant it. “So glad I don’t have to eat you. Welcome to The Salty Wench.”

“Th-thanks,” I stuttered, the breath knocked from me by his statement.

The activity in the bar resumed, as my place amongst them was validated. I’d been seconds away from being consumed, and didn’t know it. Sure, I’d reckoned it as a possibility, but to have it boldly stated as fact…Primal Brain wanted to shriek internally again, but Rational Brain had something else in mind.

I yanked my hand out of Odella’s grasp, and glared at her, accusing. “You knew I might be eaten if I answered incorrectly?”

“Well, yes, but I had the utmost confidence in you,” she said cheerfully, and beamed like a proud parent.

I could only splutter in indignation, and Lion-Man chuckled.

“Odella was only following the rules. No warnings to the Ords, and any cheating ends in automatic consumption. It keeps the level of unworthy Ords at a minimum, ensuring this remains a safe haven for Supernaturals,” he said, reaching under the bar for a wine glass.

I ground my teeth at his use of the slang term for humans, but kept my opinion to myself. He could still eat me at his discretion, I was sure.

With the glass in hand, he turned and drew something from a metal canister, with some kind of writing unknown to me scrawled across the side. When he faced us again, I swallowed hard against the knot in my throat.

“Fresh today, Odella, my sweet,” he said, and handed her the glass that was half-full of a thick, red liquid that looked suspiciously like blood.

She giggled, and took the glass from him. He looked over at me. “And for you?”

“Uh, just some cranberry juice. I have to drive later.” I paused as he poured the drink. “Didn’t the Sphinx in Oedipus Rex kill herself when Oedipus answered her riddle correctly?” I asked.

He handed the glass over to me, and nodded. “Yes, but that kind of ‘falling on your sword’ honor went out of style when humans started murdering us every chance they got. Enjoy your drink,” he said, not a little huffy, and moved on to an ugly, oversized humanoid creature with greyish-green skin, and small, black, unintelligent eyes, waving him down at the other end of the bar.

“You’re so fantastic at making new friends,” Odella quipped, as she started to move through the crowd toward the back-right corner, not far from a hallway with a sign stating it was where I could find the restrooms and a payphone, of all things. “Suggesting the man should have killed himself when you got the riddle correct, instead of introducing yourself and asking his name. It’s a wonder we don’t bring more humans around,” she finished bluntly.

My face flamed with embarrassment, and I stole a quick glance over to the Sphinx. He caught my eye, and I gave him my best apologetic grimace, and mouthed ‘Sorry’. He shrugged.

I turned back to follow Odella, and grumbled my irritation at myself, while getting fleeting glances of my co-workers as the crowd shifted away from us.

I love it when you give me an awkward, shameful moment as fodder to replay in your mind, over and over again. You’re too kind, Rational Brain said, and bowed.

Fuck you, I spat back, as the first of many replays of the moment ran through my mind like a movie projector I couldn’t turn off, and shame washed through me like someone flushing crap down a toilet.

Don’t forget, we still have a job to do, Rational Brain said, and played the moment again.

I sighed, and caught sight of a particularly pissed off Celinwel.

Maybe I should have just let the Sphinx eat me.



Tales of the Graveyard Shift: The Greasy Goblin ~~ Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Aside from my brother, I’d never really had roommates except in college. The only reason it worked with him and me was because we didn’t have a choice. We were two pet rats thrown in a cage that never got along, and no amount of biting, clawing, or squeaking our dislike would change the rat owners’ decision to house us together. My mother never really wanted to deal with our bickering, and my dad’s solution was to tell us; “Get along, or get beat.”

College had been a bit of a challenge for me, in the way it was challenging for a betta to tolerate another of its kind in its tank. I’d thought it was my chance to expand my horizons, meet new people, learn some spiffy new stuff, and potentially make friends far removed from my awkward high school years. Maybe it was me finally being away from home that made my usually pessimistic self so hopeful, but my four years at a state college socked the optimism from me faster than a heavyweight fighter versus a lightweight. It also just made me hate people more.

I was drained. I’d reached the end of my, ‘Adrenaline is a totally appropriate replacement for sleep!’ tether. With rebellious eyes drooping of their own accord, I faced Knight.

“No,” he said, and pointed a finger at me, eyeing me up and down. “I’m not driving you home, and if you get pulled over for erratic driving you better not mention my name.” A flicker of something passed through his expression, too quick for my sleep-addled brain to track.

He scoffed and shook his head, either from exasperation, or trying to hide whatever I’d missed. “Get out of here. I need to call the owner to let him know he can open the store back up. You and the green crew need to skedaddle before then.”

I looked toward the back door. The other Goblins were already piled into the back of the van, leaving just Slies, Knight, and me in the kitchen. I turned weary eyes down to my new hip attachment.

“How does this work? You can’t walk out like that. Do you have some kind of disguise?” I asked, knowing I’d lost any semblance of tact the minute the words tumbled from my mouth like a waterfall of word vomit.

“Something wrong with the way I look?” Slies asked, belligerently.

“Uh, no. I just mean it isn’t very covert to walk around with a green man the size of a toddler.”

“Who you callin’ a toddler?”

The situation had the vibe of a trap with no outcome except the loss of a hand, or something equally vital. So I just stared at him a moment, and then turned on my heel and walked away.

“Hey!” Slies hurried up with me, his pack slung over his shoulder. “Jeez,” he said, under his breath, “can’t you take a joke?”

“I’m too tired for yours, or anyone else’s, shit at this point. And I still have to work tonight.” I groaned. My toenails still throbbed from being on my feet all night, and weariness weighed on my shoulders like concrete dragging me down into the icy depths of exhaustion.

“No worries. You won’t even notice me around.”

Doubtful, Rational Brain said, dryly.

“To answer your question, we have, ‘look the other way’ charms crafted by a local Witch. As long as we’re not actively trying to draw attention to ourselves, people can’t see us.”

He’d caught up to me at that point, right as I stepped out into the sunlight. The van had driven off, taking all the other goblins, dead and alive, back to wherever it was the goblins lived. I looked down at the talisman he held out.

It was a disc that fit in the center of his palm, about two inches across. It was made from dark, reddish-brown cherry wood, which I knew because my father went through a weird phase post-military, where he wanted to reconnect with his inner man and work with his hands. Or something equally teenage eye-roll worthy. It was varnished with something to make the wood darker, and for some reason my bones were aching from more than sleep just from being in its presence. There was a symbol etched into wood, a triskele, in fact. A swirly Celtic symbol I recognized from one of my more eccentric college roommate’s books. It was like three octopus arms, curling out from a central point in the same direction, sans the suckers. When I tried to concentrate on it harder, my eyes slid away, like water across a puddle of oil. It had a small hole through the ‘top’ and sides, like a long tunnel through the wood, in which a length of worn, brown leather cord was threaded through and looped around Slies’ neck.

There was something disconcerting about the sensation, and it left me mildly uncomfortable. Whatever powered the charm didn’t seem to care for me, almost like a person rolling a piece of hard candy around in their mouth, just to spit it out when the flavor didn’t suit their taste.

“Witch, you say?” I asked, curious despite the disagreeable impression from the talisman.

“Yeah, she’s as old as the woods around the town, and the Boss has been doin’ business with her for almost as long as that.”

Brings to mind some interesting questions about the lifespan of supernaturals, Rational Brain noted.

Sleep, Primal Brain mumbled, and I stumbled on one of the small bits of gravel. Although, I could trip on the air itself some days, so I couldn’t blame my worn state. I managed to make it to my car, and Slies hopped in on the passenger side after it unlocked with an ungodly cheerful chirp.

As I slid in on the driver’s side, Slies asked, “You okay to drive?”

“I’m fine,” I groused, as I tried at least three times, unsuccessfully, to get the key in the ignition. On the fourth, with Slies’ eyebrows climbing ever higher with each failure, I managed to get it in. “See? No problem,” I said, and yawned so big and long, a tear was one stray water molecule away from rolling down my cheek.

“I’m so reassured,” he muttered.

I puttered out of the lot and headed back to my apartment. Slies only had to shriek once, or twice, to alert me that I may have been driving off the road. We made it to my apartment without any accidents, and I trudged bleary-eyed up to my door. I unlocked it, opened it, and shambled to my room. The one thing I made sure to do was close and lock the bedroom door. I was too tired to care about what else he might do in the apartment. I flopped onto my bed and fell asleep.


An insistent beeping invaded the black, dreamless void of my mind, and I groaned and reached blindly for my phone. It was time to wake up, oh joy. I flipped open the cover on my phone, and poked the screen until the beeping stopped, never taking my face from the pillow.

“Time for work, eh?”

Adrenaline slammed through my system like a locomotive through a car on its tracks, and I scrambled in my covers, an unholy shriek torn from me like yanking out someone’s spleen. My feet tangled in the beige sheets, and I fell over the side of my bed. My head bounced off the carpeted floor, and stars skated across my vision like water striders across a lake.

When the little lights cleared, the tips of two large, green ears peeked over the edge of the bed, followed by the rest of Slies’ face.

“What the fuck are you doing in my bed?” I screeched.

Slies’ ears curled at the loud noise, and he scowled. “Jeez, you’re loud.”

I crabwalked backward a few feet from the bed, and it was then I saw enough of him on the bed to see he wore a pair of loose, blue cotton pajama pants pulled tight at the waist with a drawstring. He was shirtless, and a patch of curly black hair was spread across his chest, over his sternum, and then in a thin line down his midline all the way to his pants.

“And why are you half naked?” I was louder this time, and Slies actually covered his ears.

“I don’t like sleeping with a shirt on, and I’m in your bed because I’m not sleeping on that pathetic excuse for a futon you have out there. You might as well sit right on the springs, the thing is so thin.” He paused, removed his hands from his ears, and if possible his scowl deepened. “Not that your bed is much better. What the hell are you made of, that you can sleep on this rock?”

“Apparently sterner stuff than goblins who shouldn’t be in my bed any way,” I growled back at him.

He shrugged, and took a gander around my room. “Also, you need to fire your interior decorator.”

The room was Spartan, with only a full-sized bed and boxspring set directly on the floor. Saved on me having to vacuum beneath it, if it had one of those simple frames. The sheets were a washed out, greyish-brown the color of three day old oatmeal. The thinning comforter had been washed near to colorless, though it had started life as some kind of trendy-named beige. I had a plastic tote on the floor containing all my unmentionables, as my mother calls them, and a hamper that was occasionally home to the dirty clothes littering the floor. I had a standing lamp that I used for reading at night when the overhead light was too bright, especially given that reading meant changing positions and no one liked trying to block an overhead light with a book.

The closet had a few scattered plastic hangers, with some shirts, a couple jeans, and now my work clothes. When my mother had discovered wire hangers in the closet, she hadn’t beaten me with them, but she had a case of the vapors, to be sure.

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” I said, and stood, doing that awkward lifting of your legs and feet when trying to get something untangled from your ankles. I headed for the bathroom, and Slies scooted from the bed.

My hackles rose and I turned a deadly gaze toward him, my eyes a little wide, daring him to complete his path toward the bathroom door. It was one of those bathrooms that had two doors: one to the bedroom, and one to the main area of the apartment. Slies’ eyebrows rose, and he held his hands up in defense as he scooted around the end of the bed, heading toward the living room.

That’s right, you little slug, Primal Brain rumbled, still somewhat amped up on shock and adrenaline.

I don’t think we’re his type, Rational Brain replied dryly.

The bathroom matched the rest of the apartment: small and unremarkable. The shower curtain was that plastic that eventually cracked, and the lightest of airflow would send it sticking to an unsuspecting body part, eliciting an unholy shriek. It was maroon—the color that was on sale—and had matching plastic rings to hold it up. Though a few were blue, to replace rings that had broken, and there were none of the same color to replace them when I bought new ones.

The bathtub itself was the real coup de grâce. It was an older apartment building, before they made the plastic, one-piece shower surrounds. Mine was tile, old and crumbly, and the heavy, ceramic soap holder had fallen out of the wall and onto my foot. The bruise had been nasty, and the gruff, old super with a bent back, wrinkled skin like a hound dog, and salt and pepper hair was unsympathetic. It revealed a real moisture issue eating away at the wall behind the tile, but he’d just patched it up, and told me not to use it. The rest of the tub was the same ceramic, with rust-like stains in the corners and running like a reddish-brown river from the faucet, to the overflow faceplate, and on down to the drain.

The sink was white, vanity top, and sitting over golden pecan engineered hardwood. It was bubbled and warped from too much water left on it, and not being cleaned up, from before I was ever in the apartment. There was no mirror over the medicine cabinet, busted by some druggie tenant prior to me, and never replaced.

The apartment had never been ideal, but it was within my means.

I took a shower at land-speed record, and blow dried my hair out. I peeked into the bedroom to make sure Slies wasn’t there, and I went in and got dressed even faster. I walked out into the living room to see Slies dressed, and eating something from a bowl while sitting on the aforementioned rock-hard futon. I assumed it was my cereal, since there really wasn’t much else here to eat.

“No wonder you’re single. You’re the worst housekeeper I’ve ever seen, and your cereal selection sucks,” he said around a mouthful of bran. “Bring some food home with you.”

“No wonder you’re single. You haven’t got a tactful bone in your body, or any manners to speak of,” I shot back, gathering my things for work, and grabbing my shoes.

Slies smiled, his sharp teeth revealing bits of bran stuck to them. “I’m a highly eligible bachelor, but I don’t have time to get into the intricacies of goblin courtship. You ready for this?”

The smallest, teeniest worms of doubt squirmed in my gut. “I’m not really sure what you guys want me to do. Celinwel doesn’t like me, and how am I supposed to know she’s some kind of supernatural drug dealer? It’s not something that comes up in casual conversation at work.”

Slies shrugged. “Guess you better get good at making friends, then, Toots.”

I took the high road and ignored the nickname. Slies hopped up from the futon, and walked over to the sink. He rinsed the bowl out and it thudded in the bottom of the sink.

“I’m taking a shower, then I’ll be out to do some sneakin’. I don’t know if I’ll be home when you get here, but I shouldn’t be too long gone.”

“Later then,” I said, and watched him grab his backpack and go into the bathroom.

Should we tell him about the soap dish? Rational Brain wondered.

Nah, Primal Brain responded.

It was only scant seconds after the shower head turned on that a muffled thud sounded from the bathroom, followed by a howl of pain.

The super wouldn’t be happy, but I couldn’t help but cackle as I walked out the door.


I’ll admit I was reluctant to be the goblins’ inept detective, or rather bait to bring out the criminal when I ‘got too close to the truth’. If that ever happened.

Julia and the other humans were already out the back door, and my crew already inside, by the time I arrived. When Julia and I reached each other, just for that brief hand-over report, she grimaced.

“I know it would have been nice to have a slow night, because of Stribs, but it’s turning out to be an average, crazy Thursday. Try to keep them motivated.” She paused. “Somehow. Good luck!” Then she was gone faster than I could say lickety split.

Not that you’d say that anyway. What is this, the 1800s? Rational Brain said scornfully.

In reality, I was stalling. I didn’t want to deal with any of this: Stribs’ death, Celinwel’s animosity, the goblins, Knight… The list went on. I’d also been flying from one thing to the next without a chance to really process any of it. Sharp claws of panic were making their way up from my gut toward my throat, but I swallowed them down and continued on to the back door. This time they’d left the smallest part of a wedge door stopper in the door for me, so I wouldn’t have to knock, and it allowed just the barest of finger holds to grab the edge of the door. With a casual glance it would appear closed, but it also meant Odella wouldn’t have to wait for me.

I went in, picked up the door stopper and set it on a shelf near the back door, and then headed to the crew room. I could hear the kitchen bustling, though there wasn’t any chatter going on. I hung up my jacket, put my purse on the shelf, and grabbed a headset from the bin over the registers at the first window.

I nodded at Lia as I passed the sink area, and she nodded back, but didn’t offer a greeting. Her expression was a mixture, as though her mind was on a loop of thoughts, and none of them very appealing.

I walked through the grill area, and noted a new face. She turned enough so I could see a nametag that read ‘Thea’, and then our eyes met. Hers were the bright orange of Halloween pumpkins, with vertical slits like a cat, set in a triangular face with prominent cheekbones. She had a happy, somewhat offbeat look, and smiled at my stare.

“Hello!” She beamed. She was on the heavier side, and moved with a bit of a spring in her step. Hair that was in a ponytail but would touch just beyond her shoulders if left down, was straight, thick, and the color of cinnamon streaked with honey.

Everyone within my view tensed at her voice, and it raised some internal eyebrows. It was more than her replacing Stribs. That level of uneasiness went much deeper than that.

“Holly!” Odella called, and I didn’t have any time to think on it further.

The night went by in a blur, punctuated by a few snapshots of interactions.

Bea stopped me on her way to the crew room for her ten minute break and asked, in almost a whine, “I wasn’t too mean to him, right? I just don’t want him to have died thinking I hated him.”

I didn’t want to break it to her that I doubted Stribs’ last thoughts were of her, but I also didn’t want to point out that Stribs wasn’t the nicest character.

“No, I don’t think you were too mean, Bea,” I reassured her. Her shoulder slumped in relief, and she whispered a quiet ‘thank you’ as she loped off.

Odella was somewhat aloof, but I wasn’t shocked, being that—according to all the literature I’d ever read—she was already dead herself. I wouldn’t say she sent out vibes of relief, but she wasn’t exactly broken up about it, either.

Anne was her usual, bouncy self, though she did tone it down an iota around Celinwel. It was our first night without the cloud of Stribs’ negativity hanging over us all, and Anne, being the little neurotic ball of sunshine she was, was going to shine no matter what.

Leo was off for the night, so I didn’t get to see his reaction, but he was a zombie, after all. And Nathan stayed well away.

The real puzzle was Celinwel herself. She’d kept her head down, making food, and her mouth shut, which was odd for her. And instead of being somber, she was more puzzled and angry, than anything else.

In an effort to do what Knight and Gozuk asked, I’d walked up to her on my ten minute break, and offered my condolences.

She scowled at me. “Like you know anything about it,” she’s said, her voice like an angry buzz of bees. It was also an odd response. Then she glanced over my shoulder, and caught sight of something. Her scowl lessened a hair, though her lips pressed out in a thin line. “Thank you,” she ground out between clenched teeth.

I turned to see what was behind me, and Odella wasn’t too far away, watching our interaction like a mother cat keeping watch on her kitten interacting with a bird of prey. Celinwel didn’t have Stribs to back up her behavior, or her, his, anymore. I faced Celinwel again and nodded. “No problem.”

At the end of the night, as everyone was getting ready to leave, Odella stopped us all and made a surprising suggestion.

“I know I wouldn’t be able to stay for more than twenty minutes or so, but how about we head to The Salty Wench for a drink, on Stribs’ behalf,” she said.

There was a general murmur from all those assembled by the crew area, and it was uneasy and leaning toward ‘no’ before Anne piped up with, “That sounds perfect. Stribs loved that place.”

I looked to Celinwel, who wasn’t happy, but she nodded. The others agreed.

“I’ll meet you outside and lead you there,” Odella said to me, as everyone headed out.

In all reality, I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed. But with Knight and Gozuk hovering over me, as well as Slies probably already in my bed, I didn’t have much choice.

“Sure thing.”



Tales of the Graveyard Shift: The Greasy Goblin ~~ Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Four of the goblins, Zeec, and the others whose names I’d learned were Kreg, Brikt, and Drubleg, carried off the cardboard box containing Stribs’ body like grimacing pallbearers. The smell itself wasn’t awful; it was knowing what the smell was attached to that got to you. Apparently, even the monsters had their limits, and cannibalism was it. At least for goblins. The bottom of the box was soaked through with grease and fluids oozing from his cooked flesh, so a sense of urgency was in the air as they went about their task, before his body broke through and fell out the bottom.

Knight had run outside for a minute to back the van right up to the doorway, minimizing the chance they’d be seen. He scowled while going about the task, which the goblins viewed as some strange form of servitude to them, rather than him covering his ass to make sure they weren’t seen. There was a gleam in their eyes and mad cackling and heckling as they ordered him about while directing the van’s position.

As I watched their cautious yet hasty progress, Knight came over to where I stood by the vats. His eyes were an angry storm ready to rain all over my already pathetic parade, his shoulders were tight and bunched upward, and his hands were shoved into his pockets.

He stopped in front of me, blocking my view of what was going on. “You need to negotiate with them,” he said, under his breath, as though he didn’t want them to hear.

I didn’t think anyone would be able to hear us if we spoke normally. Even with most everything off, it was still loud in that way machinery tended to be; slowly dulling to a low roar in the background after you heard it for long enough. If your brain tried to always hear every little thing around it, you’d go insane, so it put certain things on the back burner.

I hadn’t expected him to voluntarily speak with me, let alone offer me advice. I figured he was simply seeking the only other one of his kind in the room. Kind of the way you gravitate to those seemingly most like you in an unfamiliar setting.

I gave him a long blink, and then raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Are you deaf as well as dumb?” he asked, and then he shook his head. “You need to be quicker on your feet and in your mind if you want to survive in their world.” He jerked his head backward and to his left to indicate the only two Goblins still in sight, Slies and Gozuk. I took a quick peek around Knight, and saw the two of them conversing, much the same as we were.

“What exactly do you mean, negotiate?”

If he rolled his eyes any harder he’d be bowling with them. “Everyone knows goblins consider everything negotiable.”

“Well, I’m not everyone.”

“Ain’t that the truth?”

I took a deep, steadying breath, and decided, for once in my life, to be the adult. My family members would die of shock if they ever found out. Good thing they never would, since I couldn’t talk with them about this without being committed to some form of sanitarium. Taking in Knight’s cantankerous attitude and hunch in his shoulders, being sent away would be the least of my concerns if I advertised the existence of the supernatural.

“So, when you say everything, you mean…?”

“Even the manner of your demise at their hands can be bargained—if you have the right leverage. Deals and bargaining are their weakness. More than that, really. Once you present one to them they can’t back out. It’s like a compulsion. Just like how the fae can’t lie.”

“And what leverage do I have?” I was afraid of the answer.

“You. They need you to do their little task to try and find Strib’s killer.”

I gave him the incredulous scowl the comment deserved.

His gaze traveled over my body, taking in my wrinkled, black jogger sweatpants, and matching slim-fit, zip-up hooded jacket. I’d run a brush through my hair a couple times to get rid of the sleep-snarls, and had thrown on an old, gray faded ball cap when my bangs decided to be uncooperative. The only bit of color in my outfit was a pair of pink cross-trainers with dark gray lines my mother insisted on giving me.

“You wear too much black!” my mother had scolded.

“Admittedly, it’s not much,” he said, disappointment coating his voice like a layer of scum on a pond.

Death before dishonor, Primal Brain growled.

He is kinda being an asshole, Rational Brain agreed.

But he’s our only lifeline in all this craziness, I countered.

We can always find someone else, Primal Brain stated, giving my eyes an unfriendly glint, as brittle and sharp as a honed flint knife.

Not in the timeframe the goblins likely want. Rational brain paused. Plus, we don’t know the first thing about disposing of the body without being caught.

Semantics, Primal brain argued, though not convincingly.

Take the high road. Take the high road…I repeated in my mind, grinding the words out like a miller making flour.

“I’ve never bargained for anything in my life.”

He leaned down so his face was near mine, our eyes locking. “Looks like you need to start figuring it out,” he whispered harshly, and with no sympathy as the sound of the goblins making their way over to us bounced against all the metal surfaces.

“What sweet nothings has our virtuous Knight been whispering to you?” Gozuk asked when he approached, the sweet words belying his churlish demeanor.

Knight flushed, and a vein pulsed in his neck, half from anger and half from embarrassment, from what I could tell. Knight turned to meet Gozuk head-on, his fists clenched at his sides. There was something there, in their pasts, with the way they made war and not love with their eyes. I wondered if I’d ever get to hear that story. From Knight’s expression, I’d be worm food in the apocalypse before it ever happened.

“What’s in all this for me, Gozuk?” I asked, and broke the stare-down at the O.K. Chicken Corral.

Gozuk’s gaze didn’t waver from Knight. “Your brother’s continued good health and excellent standing in the community.”

Don’t waver, Rational Brain urged.

“That helps him, not me,” I said, throwing as much emotion out of my voice as I could, as if it was as useful as last week’s garbage. That got Gozuk’s attention, as though it were pulled from Knight by force against his will. “I asked what was in it for me.”

Gozuk glanced between Knight and me, his scowl deepening. “I didn’t think you had it in you to help a fellow Or—“ Gozuk caught himself with my dirty look, “—human again, Knight. Not after what happened with—“

“Enough, Gozuk,” Knight cut him off, his voice deep with implied, potential violence. “What I do, or do not do, is no concern of yours.”

“It is when you spoil a good deal for me.”

Knight didn’t blink. He wasn’t helping me so much as trying to make life difficult for Gozuk. I was nothing more than a pawn in their supernaturally-rigged game of chess.

I was more of a cribbage girl myself.

“You always did want something for nothing.”

“I’d be a fool not to.”

“Well, Gozuk,” I prompted, bringing his attention back to me. “What is finding your son’s killer worth to you?” I asked, as the other Goblins joined us. They glanced between their boss and me, almost…curious.

I’d placed the ball in his court. Go too low, and they would think, ‘If that is the value of the son, what am I worth?’ Too high, and he’ll be seen as a fool; easily taken advantage of.

From the way his skin around his eyes tightened, he didn’t appreciate the position I’d put him in.

“His weight in gold?” Knight suggested, helpfully. Or from the way Gozuk glowered at him, not so helpful.

“Yes, but pre- or post-deep fried?” I wondered aloud.

“Hmm,” Knight pondered, tapping his chin for effect. “Pre, if you’re honoring the memory of who Stribs was. Post, if you’re trying to rain vengeance down on his killer.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Slies agreed, and the other Goblins nodded their approval.

Gozuk’s gaze sharpened at the other Goblin’s words, the way a head chef honed his knives, ready to stab an insubordinate dishwasher who handed him a dirty pan.

“You’re still not coming from a position of strength. Your brother is more than enough.”

Be strong. Don’t think of the potential gravy loss, Primal Brain urged.

I shrugged. “We don’t really get along.” Which wasn’t a fabrication. I indicated our surroundings with a wave of my hand. “Or can’t you tell by my illustrious position here, versus his?” It wasn’t a total lie. My brother probably could have offered me a job, but the two of us in close proximity, especially where he would hold a position of power over me…Well, the battle at Little Big Horn ended better for Custer than that situation would have turned out for us.

He’d kept eye contact with me as I spoke, considering my words.

“You mean that,” he said, shocked.

“Family isn’t everything.” The words came out even, and my heartrate remained normal. Some small part of me must have believed that, and I held onto it, using it as a lifeline to fool the goblins. Maybe myself, too. Distancing myself from it was a good way to not feel bad if this all fell down around my ears like an angry avalanche.

The goblins looked around at each other, murmuring. I’d disturbed them on some deep level. Even Slies, who seemed a more neutral party than the others, pursed his lips and shuffled his feet.

Knight opened his mouth to say something, but a strange look passed over his face, just before a flash of silver near the heated product cabinets caught most everyone’s eye.

“Nathan?” I asked, though I knew the answer. Unless we had another ghost running around, it wasn’t likely to be anyone else. Which made me wonder.

“Why hasn’t Stribs’ ghost shown up? I mean, the guy loved himself too much to not feel like he has unfinished business,” I said, as Nathan continued to ‘solidify’.

Knight snorted. “Ghosts are a purely human thing. Not to mention, if every person who had ‘unfinished business’ became a ghost, we’d be up to our eyeballs in them.”

“You know, let’s go with the assumption I don’t have your fantastic knowledge base on the supernatural, because, oh, wait, I don’t,” I said, fairly growling the words at him.

It was getting tiresome, him treating me like I’d skipped out on all my Supernatural 101 classes in college, or something. As if I just didn’t want to learn about it, not that I’d just discovered it existed last night. He can shove his superiority right where the sun doesn’t shine, Jackass.

Here, here, Primal and Rational Brain agreed.

“You are being a bit of a prick about it. Even for you, Knight,” Slies said, and shrugged a false apology at his words, holding his hands upward as though to ask, ‘can you really blame me for the truth?’.

“’Spare the rod, spoil the child,’” he quoted scathingly.

“I don’t appreciate you speaking to her that way, sir,” Nathan said, his voice distant, like a sigh heard from the next room over. Almost echoing. There was a nervous thread to his words, like crooked embroidery on the foundation fabric.

I was a little taken aback by him standing up for me; we’d only known each other for one night.

“Don’t worry about him, Nathan,” I said, pulling his burnished steel colored eyes toward mine. “You didn’t happen to see who killed Stribs, did you?” I asked.

Everyone started, as though they tripped without moving. Nathan’s eyes widened, and he shook his head.

“No, I didn’t.”

Even that split second had allowed a small bit of hope to enter everyone’s minds that the situation would be ended in a snap. With his words, it was as though we all deflated, like kid’s party balloons left outside for days in the rain.

“How do we know he ain’t lyin’?” one of the Goblins, Brikt, I think it was, asked. The name was apt: he looked like a solid green brick wall of muscle. From the way his dull, black eyes roved over all the assembled, his intelligence level was on par with one, too.

“Well, ghost?” Gozuk asked, and scowled up at Nathan, who dipped down behind the cabinet a bit.

“What would he have to gain from lying?” I asked, not liking the way Gozuk watched the ghost, as though he was some kind of roadblock on his way to finding his son’s killer. Roadblocks were easily removed, especially for someone of Gozuk’s clout.

“I’m no fool. My son was not widely liked by his co-workers. Keeping that knowledge to himself would save the murderer—a potential friend, maybe?” Gozuk theorized out loud.

Nathan sank even further behind the cabinet. Everyone’s attention was on the ghost, and the Goblins were making slow progress closing in on the cabinet, but a small movement in my peripheral vision caught my eye. The utensils on the table and over the grill were trembling—tongs, spatulas, sauce guns, grill squeegee, and so on—as though a small earthquake was happening.

“Do I need to get an exorcist in here, ghost?”

One of the spatulas over the grill clattered as it fell onto the grill. I snatched it up before it melted. The things were heat resistant, but that didn’t mean they could stand up to the grill’s continuous heat on them. After I put it away, I turned back to find everyone still fixated on the ghost.

The utensils rattled louder.

“Enough!” Everyone turned to me, startled by my exclamation. “You’re all just bullying him. If he says he didn’t see anything, I believe him.”

They all gave me incredulous looks. “Just take him at his word, should we?” Gozuk asked. “Why wouldn’t he have seen anything? Not like he has somewhere else to be.” The Goblins chuckled, and a sauce gun fell to the floor, ejecting mayonnaise all over the floor. Some of it even made it onto Gozuk’s polished shoe.

“You little piece of ectoplasmic snot!” Gozuk thundered.

I rolled my eyes. “If you’re going to get angry, save it for the killer,” I said, and Gozuk turned the angry storm in his eyes to me. I ignored him, and looked up at Nathan, who was now little more than a pair of eyes and the top of his head hovering above the cabinet.

“Nathan. You told me last night you can only manifest if there are supernatural beings around, correct?” I asked.

He rose an inch or so, and nodded. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“How many do you need here in order to do that?”

The more I spoke, the higher he rose. “At least three. Though, as the number increases I can appear more clearly. Like now, with—“ confusion washed across his features like a wave rolling over the shore “—six and a half?” He glanced back and forth between Knight and me, until he firmly landed on Knight.

Nathan opened his mouth, but Knight’s knotted eyebrows and downward curve of his lips made him clamp it shut.

Curiouser and curiouser, Rational Brain murmured.

“Anyway,” he said, dipping down a bit again. “Three, at least.”

I wanted to prod at Knight like a kid poking at a dead animal with a stick for the first time, but I needed to make sure Gozuk didn’t kick Nathan to the afterlife curb.

“So, unless there were at least three supernaturals here when Stribs was killed, you couldn’t manifest,” I reiterated, then an idea popped into my head, unbidden. “But can you see, or sense anything when you’re not visible to us?”

He turned his face and eyes down and away. “A little.” If he’d had any blood, he might have been blushing. “I’m not a very strong ghost. If no supernaturals worked here, I’d probably never have had the energy to manifest, and I’d have just faded.” His eyes widened, eyebrows rose, and his mouth contracted. Once again, if he’d been alive, I’d expect to see a cold sweat breaking out along his brow. The very thought of fading scared him near to death, or it would if he wasn’t already there.

“So did you sense anything before the day crew got here?” I asked. It had to be the only time it could have happened.

He frowned in thought. “I could sense you, a little. I know after I lost my substance, you moved around for a bit and then went to the bathroom. Someone came back in, but I figured it was just one of the night crew grabbing something they forgot, and then there was another person behind them. At that point, though, I’d gone too far ‘away’ to know what was happening, and they didn’t stay long enough for their energy to bring me more awareness.” With the word ‘away’ he shuddered. Wherever it was, it wasn’t a pleasant place to be.

“Did the second person feel like another supernatural?” I asked.

Nathan nodded.

“Well, that confirms what I said earlier about you not being the killer,” Knight said, and nodded at me, and for the first time he didn’t have a disgusted look on his face.

“Thank you for your help, Nathan,” I said, and gave him a smile. He gave me a watery one in return, and floated away.

“No help at all, really,” Gozuk muttered.

My mouth turned down and twisted in annoyance. There is no pleasing some people.

Then Gozuk turned weary eyes to me. “You prove Celinwel did this, human, and you can have his weight in gold—whichever you prefer.” He jerked his head toward the back door. “Let’s go, boys.”

Gozuk straightened his shoulders, and made his way to the van, his men following behind. They went in through the back, past where Stribs’ body was being kept. The last two in—Zeec and Brikt—closed the van doors.

Slies remained behind, as ordered, and the three of us looked around at each other.

“I think I’m ready for a nap,” I said, yawning and stretching. The lack of sleep and current circumstances left my eyelids drooping every few seconds, and my limbs heavy.

“So, do I get to sleep in your bed?” Slies asked, and tilted his head forward, lifting his eyebrows suggestively.

I snorted, surprised. “Absolutely not. You get the couch.” Then my brain stuttered to a halt. “Wait, why are you staying with me?”

“Didn’t ya know? We’re stuck like glue ‘til we prove Celinwel is the killer,” he said, a mischievous grin making his eyes shine.

Knight snickered at my stricken expression.

“Oh, no. I don’t think so,” I said, holding my hands out in front of me as a warding off gesture.

“Sorry, human. Them’s the brakes,” he said, and seemingly pulled a backpack out of thin air from behind some random piece of equipment. “Shall we go?”

This was a bad idea.