Inky ^beta

“’Nother drink!” hollered a scruffy bar patron, banging his empty mug on the counter. He was obviously drunk. “Gimme the strongest you got!”

Stanley sighed. Friday night was always packed, which was good for business, but not as good for his sanity. He glanced out the window. The blustery weather didn’t seem to deter anyone from coming in, in fact it encouraged it. Nobody wanted to be outside on a day like this. It was much better to be in a warm and lively bar.

“Hurry up, boy,” yelled the man. “I ain’t getting any younger here!”

This set off a peal of drunken laughter from the idiots who somehow found that hilarious. They were probably friends with that man; birds of a feather and all.

Stanley rolled his eyes. “I’m coming, you lunkhead. Don’t rush me!”

Then he went rummaging through the liquor cabinet for a bottle of whisky, making sure to take his time, just to spite the man. After a bit of stalling, he went over and plunked the bottle in front of the man.

“You can pour it yourself,” he said and rushed off on the beck and call of another rowdy customer. He really hated Friday nights. It was days like this when he really questioned his career choice.

Suddenly, the door slammed open and in walked a hulking figure wearing a tattered traveling cloak. All the babbling in the bar stopped. Then the man flipped up his hood, revealing a scarred, grizzled face framed by matted, white hair. He started walking towards Stanley and plonked down on the stool across from him. Chatter in the bar slowly started up again.

“A drink please,” the man grunted, dropping a pouch on the counter. “An’ something to eat.”

Stanley picked up the pouch and glanced inside. In the pouch was a motley collection of coins, most of which Stanley didn’t recognize.

”Err, sir,” he said. “We only accept kroner here.”

The man grunted and dumped out all the money in his pouch. Then he picked out a few dull grey coins and slid them towards Stanley. Then he gathered up the rest of the coins and gathered them back into his pouch.

Stanley scooped up the coins and examined them. They were fine, just really old. In fact, they seemed to be from another generation entirely. Even so, they were valid. He started walking towards the liquor cabinet.

“Will beer do?” he asked the man.

“Fine,” he replied gruffly.

“How ‘bout fish?” Stanley continued, placing a bottle in front of the man. “It’s fresh.”

“Sure,” the man said as he popped open his bottle of beer.

“You ain’t one for conversation, are you?” remarked Stanley. He turned towards the kitchen. “Hey Al, cook up whatever we caught today!” He turned back towards the man. “So...”

“Hey you! Get me some brandy!” called someone from the other side of the room.

Stanley sighed. He really hated his job sometimes. The man sitting across from his was the most interesting thing to come around here for a long time. It was going to be a long night.

“Coming!” he called, stealing one last glance at the man as he was swept back into the mayhem of running a bar.

By about a quarter to midnight, everybody had filtered out except the grizzled stranger. Stanley walked up to him.

“We’re closing up soon,” he said. “You need to leave.”

“I’m leaving soon anyways. I’m only here for my shift,” said the man after a moment of silence.

“Your shift?” asked Stanley.

The man just nodded. He didn’t seem to want to elaborate.

“I see that you’re not from ‘round here,” said Stanley.

“No,” said the man.

Stanley nodded. “So where are you from?”

The man was silent for a long time. Stanley took the time to examine the man’s face. He had a stoic look on his face as if he had seen so many horrors that nothing could faze him anymore. He had leathery, weathered skin that had a similar texture to the old, wooden counter he was sitting at. Criss-crossing all over his face was a web of scars.

His wild, oily hair cascaded down his shoulders, giving him the appearance of a swamp hermit. He had eyes so dark that they seemed almost pitch-black. It was the face of a battle-hardened wanderer that had long given up on life.

Just when Stanley thought the man wouldn’t answer, he spoke. “I’ve been places.”

Stanley smirked. “Not so good with words, are you? So what’s your name anyways?”

The man frowned, deep in thought. “I’m not sure. It’s been so long since I needed one. I’m just here for my shift, nothing more, nothing less.”

“What do you mean you don’t need a name? Everyone has one. What else are you called?”

“I don’t need one. I just do what I’m told to do. I’m just here for my shift. After that, I’ll be gone.”

“What in the world are you talking about? Arte you like a slave or something? And what is this shift you keep blathering on about, anyways? Why are you here?” interrogated Stanley.

There was another long silence. Stanley stood there quietly, hoping he hadn’t annoyed the admittedly scary man. He wished he wasn’t so nosy. He just wanted something interesting to happen, but it seemed he may have just stirred the metaphorical hornet’s nest.

The man suddenly stood up. Stanley flinched, expecting some sort of attack. But then the man started walking out.

“Wait,” called Stanley, not quite sure what he had done. “I’m sorry.”

The man turned back. “It’s fine. I’m not that used to conversation. And you’re right. I am a slave of sorts. But I’m just here for my shift. That’s all I’m supposed to do. It’s over for today, so I’m leaving.”

Stanley nodded, still confused, but not wanting to annoy the man. “Will you be here tomorrow for your, err, shift?”

“Maybe. We’ll see. But I don’t think I’m done here yet,” said the man, heading out the door.

Stanley walked out to see him off, but there was nobody there. All he could see was a flickering street light illuminating the empty cobblestone path. The man had vanished.

“Good night, I suppose,” Stanley said into the night, feeling quite foolish as he did. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, hopefully, whatever your name is.”

His only reply was a gust of bone-chilling wind.

The next night, the man did show up again. This time, there was no dramatic entry. Stanley just turned around and the man was there, empty mug in hand.

“When did you get here?” asked Stanley. “I didn’t even see you come in.”

The man just shrugged. “I’m just here for my shift.”

Stanley picked out a bottle from the liquor cabinet and placed it in front of the man. “So are you going to tell me what you mean by your shift?”

The man stayed silent as he slid a few coins towards Stanley.

“Sure, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” said Stanley. He glanced around. There was nobody clamoring for his attention yet. “So do you want something to eat?”

“No thanks,” said the man. “Last night was an indulgence.”

Stanley stared. The man got more and more peculiar the more Stanley spoke with him. “Bar food isn’t that fancy, you know. I would hardly call it an indulgence.”

“It was,” said the man bitterly and fell silent. Stanley held up his hands in a placating gesture. “You don’t have to answer. I’m just being nosy.”

The man didn’t reply as he opened his bottle of beer and poured it into his mug. Recognizing the end of their conversation, Stanley sighed and went off to serve the new customers that had just come in.

When it came to closing time, Stanley turned to glance towards where the man was sitting. There were still a few stragglers that had too much to drink, but the man was gone.

“I could’ve sworn he was there a minute ago,” muttered Stanley. It seemed that his careless words had more impact on the man than he thought. He couldn’t figure out why for the life of him. All he said was that bar food wasn’t that fancy. Then again, he did say he was sort of a slave. Perhaps Stanley’s careless comment had brought back bad memories. Still it seemed like such a small infraction on Stanley’s part.

It was all in the past now. This intriguing man had had removed himself from Stanley’s life. He sighed, as he was doing a lot these days, and began to clean up the bar and shoo away any remaining customers.

The next night seemed to have brought in a typhoon, reflecting rather well on Stanley’s mood. Sunday nights were usually fairly calm due to the work day on Monday, but the bad weather had attracted customers like moths to a flame.

Stanley stared out the window, thinking about the man. As a bartender, he had seen his share of oddities, but in such a small town, the man was the most interesting fellow to ever grace his bar. Not much happened in rustic fishing villages. Stanley glanced towards the man’s usual seat. It was already near closing time, but the man was a no-show. It was a shame. Despite his oddities, Stanley had rather liked that man.

“Bad weather we’ve been having lately,” said a voice from behind Stanley.

Stanley jumped. He turned and saw Bill Hathings, a frequent customer of the bar and a friend of Stanley’s, sitting on the stool across from him.

They had known each other since they were both lads, when they bonded over their mutual dislike of fishing, a sentiment not shared by anyone else. After graduation, they had both decided to ditch college and stay in the small town instead of moving out into the big world, and they were still on friendly terms with each other.

“You startled me, Bill. Where’ve you been the last few days?” asked Stanley conversationally.

“I was visiting my cousin ‘cross the bay,” Bill replied.

“You mean Leroy?” asked Stanley. “Is he still dating Norma?”

“Yep,” said Bill. “They’re engaged now, actually.”

“Oh? When’s the wedding” asked Stanley. “And am I invited?”

“Not sure about the first one, but you can come as my date,” said Bill, chuckling.

“Ha, ha, you little joker,” deadpanned Stanley. “So will you be having the usual tonight?”

“Nah, I gotta get home to my wife. I just stopped by to say hi,” said Bill. “So did anything interesting happen while I was gone?”

“Yeah, actually,” Stanley said slowly. “There was the most peculiar man that came ‘round here, but I think I scared him off.”

“Peculiar? In what way?” asked Bill in a strange tone that Stanley couldn’t place. It almost seemed like he was afraid of something. Stanley shook his head, dismissing those thoughts. Bill was the cleanest man Stanley had ever met. There was no way he’d be in any sort of trouble.

“Well he kept going off about his shift and he was...”

Stanley paused. Bill had frozen a still as an ice sculpture. Now Stanley started to wonder; was Bill scared of the idea of the man?

“Are you okay?” asked Stanley. “You look really pale.”

Bill muttered something to himself unintelligibly, brushing his mop of light brown hair away from his eyes. He flashed a weak smile that looked all too forced and said nervously, “I’m fine. Now I should get going. Gotta get home and all.”

With that, he awkwardly stood up and all but dashed out the door. Stanley stared after him. First the strange man, now Bill. Was the world going crazy?

Suddenly, there was a flash of lightning. Stanley flinched. His nerves really couldn’t handle any more surprises tonight. He looked out the window. He should be closing up now.

“Was that your friend?” asked a voice coming from behind him.

Stanley’s head spun around so fast it almost fell off. The strange man had somehow materialized behind in front of the counter after refusing to show up for the whole night.

His heart racing, he asked irritably, “Where the hell did you come from?”

“Was that your friend?” the man repeated.

“Why do you care?” Stanley snapped.

“He’s the reason I’m here,” the man said apologetically.

“What?” asked Stanley incredulously. “I thought you were here for that shift you keep on talking about.”

The man nodded. “Yes, my shift.”

“So what does Bill have to do with it?”

The man frowned. “I suppose I might as well tell you. It’s all moot anyways. He was chosen.”

“Chosen? By who? And what do you have to do with it?”

“The Night Ship. That’s what I’m bound to.”

“What in the world is the Night Ship? And how did Bill get involved with it?”

“I just came to warn you,” said the man, ignoring Stanley’s question. “Anybody who’s chosen can never leave the service. I would know. I thought you should know before it happens. I also need to apologize. I was short with you last time, and it wasn’t really your fault. You just reminded me of... nevermind. That’s not important. I just think you should have a chance...”

Suddenly, a crack of thunder rang out. Stanley’s eyes shot out the window. When he glanced back, the man had disappeared, along with his cryptic message about Bill.

Bill. He had seemed petrified by the thought of the man. He had to go warn him! Stanley rushed out the door, ignoring the rain, towards Bill’s house. When he got there, he frantically pounded on the door.

After a while, Mrs. Hathings opened the door, rubbing her eyes. “What? I’m trying to sleep here!” she snapped tersely.

“Is Bill here?” asked Stanley. “I need to tell him something.”

Mrs. Hathings shook her head. “Bill? Who in the blazes is that?”

Stanley was shocked. What was wrong with her? “He’s your husband!”

Mrs. Hathings blinked. “I’m not married,” she said and slammed the door.

“What?” exclaimed Stanley. He glanced towards the bay. Would the Night Ship be there? He started running towards the docks.

When he got there, he saw Bill at the edge of the docks, boarding a pitch-black ship. “There you are, Bill! What the hell is going on? Everything is going crazy!”

Bill didn’t look back. He climbed onto the ship as the ship started moving out of the docks.

“Don’t ignore me, Bill!” shouted Stanley, running to the end of the dock. “What’s going on?”

“It’s time for my shift,” Bill called back. “I knew it would happen one day. I’m sorry.”

“Wait!” yelled Stanley. “I have so many questions! You can’t just leave like this! Don’t go!”

“Anybody who’s chosen can never leave the service,” said Bill, unintentionally echoing the mysterious man’s words. “This is the end of the road for me.”

With that, the Night Ship slid out of the bay and sailed into the mist, leaving Stanley standing alone on the docks, claiming yet another soul for its crew.