29 Apr A Dead Night

Posted at 11:00h in Strange and Unexplained by CreepypastaStories.com 0 Comments

📅 Published on April 29, 2022

“A Dead Night”

Written by Corpse Child
Edited by Craig Groshek
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by N/A

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⏰ ESTIMATED READING TIME — 9 minutes

Rating: 10.00/10. From 2 votes.

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Business was slow at the Tavern last night. Now, that wasn’t REALLY anything new (especially with this past month). Unfortunately, that didn’t keep my nerves from essentially spiking all night. Of all nights, this was the worst one to have no patrons – bar none! I was honestly about just to start emptying half my inventory myself when, lo and behold, my guardian angel granted its blessing to me.

This blessing came in the form of these two bumble-fucks stumbling in at around 11:30. They were both in their early to mid-20s and were dressed as if they had just come back from a Marylin Manson concert. Neither one of them seemed to walk a straight line without slamming into each other, busting up giggling every time they did like someone had doped them up with anesthesia. Obviously, they’d already been indulging in the old “hair of the dog that bit them in the ass.” I wasn’t gonna screw this up by opening my mouth, though.

See, here’s the thing with me; I’ve always been pretty lenient when it came to that thing. My motto’s always been, “the money is always right.” Just so long as you don’t do anything so stupid that law enforcement starts breathing down my neck, and as long as you remember to pay up once you DO come to, you can drink till half your bloodstream is liquor for all I care. Hell, my champagne room in the back might as well have a sign hanging from the door that reads “Reserved for sloshed bastards” because of the innumerable times I’ve dragged patrons back there after blacking out.

Of course, my desperation went FAR deeper than that. I’d say that would’ve been the absolute least of my worries last night. See, I made a deal with someone a while back, and they’d be collecting that night. Think of it as a sort of “protection payment,” only for more than just my business, and it wasn’t paid through…traditional methods. Time was running out, and I’d need these two if I were gonna make it out okay.

“Welcome to Odin’s Barrel. What’ll your poison be, fellas?” They didn’t hear me at first, laughing their asses off as they leaned and clung to each other, trying to stay on their feet. I cleared my throat and repeated my standard greeting. This time, one of them, a guy with a spiked mohawk and shaved eyebrows, looked up to face me. “Uhhh…yeeeah,” he slurred, “Llet me hhave a b-bitta that w-white lightning you got there.” He pointed to the top shelf where I kept my stock of imported moonshine from Germany.

“And what about you, pal?” The second one, this one with long bangs hanging over his eyes and nose ring with a chain connected to his earring, looked up and pointed (as best he could, anyway) toward the shelf where I kept my surplus of Jack. “Come on, dude,” the Mohawk kid remarked, “that shit’s for lightweights.” The one with the bangs just shrugged, and they both slumped down on a stool. “So, what’s bringing you fellas down to this neck of the woods tonight?”

Mohawk smiled and blurted out, “We just, like, got back from band practice,” making the “rock and roll” hand gesture. “Ahh, so y’all are in a band,” I asked, pouring the glass of moonshine. “Damn right, and in a week, we’re gonna play in the cemetery, ain’t that right, Meathook?” “Meathook” just smiled dazedly and held up a rock-and-roll sign.

“Meathook,” I asked stupidly. The kid just held up his index finger and curled it to form a hook. *Christ…*, I thought, trying my hardest not to burst out laughing in their faces. “And what’s your name; “Butcher knife?” The Mohawk one’s smile instantly dropped, and he glared at me, “That’s “Fangs” to you!” He then curled his index and pinky downward to form animal fangs. “Oh, my mistake,” I replied calmly.

“Yeah, yeah, just pour the drinks, asshole.” Remaining cool, I did as he said, “Just keep it together, only a little longer.” “Bro, I can’t wait for tomorrow,” Meathook piped up, “It’s gonna be fuckin WICKED!” “Damn right, it will be!”

“So, uh… where’d you say you guys will be performing again” I chimed in after pouring “Fangs,” a rather generous shot of moonshine. He looked at me again, glaring like I’d had no right to dare ask him any questions, and replied, “We told you; the cemetery.” “Ahh… You mean “Ember Stone,” just down the street from here?” “Meathook,” then chimed in excitedly, “yeah, dude, we’re gonna do it at midnight, too!”

“I see…” I replied casually as I began pouring his shot of Jack. “What does it matter to you” Fangs slurred, slamming the glass down on the bar. “Just wondering, trying to make conversation like any good bartender.” “W-whatever, jussst give me another shot,” he replied, slurring so bad now I almost had to risk asking him to repeat himself. Meathook said, “Yeah, man; we even have these T-shirts that say: “I survived the grave.” “Yeah,” Fangs chimed, “and we’ll be playing right in front of that large grave with the Angel; the one that has that one chick people say is a vampire?”

“What’s her name again?” I grinned at this, “You mean “La maîtresse de sang?” “Yeah, dude,” Meathook exclaimed. “She’s real, you know?” “Not this shit again, dude,” Fangs scolded, “we told you last time. That’s just a creepy legend to keep dumbasses like you up at night.” Now’s my chance, “I don’t know… I’m not sure you should be so quick to discredit your friend here.” He looked back to me, scoffing, “Oh, don’t tell me: you believe in that shit too?” I shrugged, “I’m just saying, you don’t know what’ll lurk in the dead of night while you’re all cozied up in bed.”

He rolled his eyes, “Great, more hocus pocus.” “Have you ever seen her,” Meathook asked eagerly. “Maybe…,” I replied, losing myself in memory. “Was she posing next to bigfoot” Fangs remarked, smirking. “Is it true that only one person has seen her and lived?” I looked at the clock: 11:47. Time’s almost up. “Tell you what, how about I take you there and let you guys see for yourselves,” I challenged, “she’ll be out by midnight tonight, according to legend.” “For real?,” Meathook blurted. “Sure, and if you do, I’ll even let your drinks be on the house. What do ya say?” “I’m in,” Meathook shouted, jumping off his stool. Fangs downed the last of his drink before replying, “Fuck it, free drinks; why not?” Before heading out, I quickly cut the lights off and locked up “the Barrel.”

It made me remember that Night a year ago. My old buddy, Carter, and I had been making this same trip. On the walk to Ember Stone, the other two kept arguing about whether or not the supposed vampire was real. Much like the two idiots behind me, we would always debate whether or not we thought La maîtresse de sang or “The Mistress of Blood” was real. She had been a local legend from the days of our grandparents. It was passed on down the lines like all old folk legends, evolving almost every time it was told.

I never was sure exactly how it started; the most semi-consistent accounts said it started after a man was found dead one morning, completely drained of blood. Supposedly, some claimed he was with a woman in the cemetery with dark hair and a white dress and red eyes. Since then, around fourteen people have been declared “missing” after supposedly visiting on this night.

That night, in particular, was so special that I couldn’t tell you. What I DO know, though, is that she does come out. She did that night. I still remember seeing her for the first time, standing at the gates of Ember Stone. Me and Carter had been walking home from his bachelor party when he got it in his head to instead head to the cemetery to test the legend. In my inebriated state, I thought it’d be a cool way to end the night and backed him up on the idea.

At first, we thought it was a bust after waiting around for fifteen minutes with nothing happening. I remember feeling a chill crawling through my body, but I had attributed that to the unusually cold weather present that night. Just as we were about to turn around and head back, however, we heard a soft, smooth voice call out to us, “Hello there…”

Turning around, we saw a woman with long, dark hair, bright scarlet lips, and wearing a white nightgown. Unlike you might be thinking, she didn’t have abnormally pale skin or anything like that. Nothing was outwardly out of place about her; she was beautiful! “Come with me,” her voice soft and soothing, “come with me, and I’ll give you a night you won’t forget.”

As piss-drunk as I was, I was still hesitant. Even though I was the skeptic of the two of us, I’d still heard enough stories to know that encounters like this, supernatural or not, typically didn’t end well for the unsuspecting. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be the case for Carter, who immediately began stumbling toward her. I shouted for him to stop, but he just kept walking. That was when I saw her eyes start to go red. Carter just kept shambling forward like a zombie through the gates.

Finally, I started following them. She was leading him to a gravestone at the far end of the cemetery carved as an angel. In front of the angel, I saw a giant hole in the ground. I tried to shout to him again. This time, he turned back to face me. It was too late by then, however. Carter was seized and pulled, screaming into the hole in what felt like a flash. I ran over as fast as I could to try and pull him back out. To no avail, I held on to his hands, which were holding on for dear life to the edge of the hole, trying to keep from being pulled down further. Eventually, his grip slipped from my hands, and he was yanked down into the hole. At first, I kept reaching down further to try again until I felt a strong hand that wasn’t his grab my wrist and start pulling me in.

From the dark depths of the grave hole, I saw two glowing, pulsing red eyes glaring up at me. Using all of my strength, I barely managed to wrench my wrist free, sending me tumbling backward. I could still hear Carter’s screams coming from the hole. About a minute later, I saw her pull herself out of the hole. Her eyes were bloodshot, and blood was dripping from her bottom lip. I was frozen in terror as she started towards me, seeming almost to float rather than walk. As she got closer and closer, her blood-caked lips parted into a much more wolfish grin as opposed to the warm and welcoming facade she had at first. “He was delicious,” she chided in a ravenous, demented tone.

“Wait!” Surprisingly, she stopped for a moment. “I-if you let me go… I-I’ll give you what you want!” Her sinister grin grew, “What I want is YOU!” “Y-you need blood, right” I beckoned, “See, I own the tavern down the street, “Odin’s Barrel” I-I can bring others… just *please* let me go!” She continued to advance until she was right on top of me. I closed my eyes, “this is it.” I felt her soft, slender hand stroke my cheek teasingly. “Very well, consider this your lucky night. I will let you go on the condition that you deliver others to me in your stead on this night so long as you still live.” I just nodded my agreement. “Look at me,” she commanded. I complied and saw that her deranged grin was gone, replaced now with a cold, malicious stare.

“Fail me even once, and you’ll only wish that your end would be as graceful as your friend’s, “ she understood, pointing back toward the hole?” I frantically nodded like I was a bobblehead. Her warm, sweet smile returned as she turned and headed back to the grave. The last thing she said to me that night was: “I’ll be waiting.”

The family was, of course, devastated about Carter’s death. In the end, it was ruled an accident, stating that falling into the grave must’ve broken his neck. They didn’t acknowledge the unusual loss of blood, nor did they try to hunt for anyone matching the Woman’s description. Eventually, though, everyone moved on from it. Everyone, that is, except for me. I knew that when she said that if I were to slip up once, that was it for me. And tonight was the first night for me to pay up on my end of the bargain.

When we finally reached the gate of Ember Stone, it was empty and quiet. I looked at my watch: 11:59. Any time now, she would come. “Well,” Fangs jeered, “here we are. Where’s your freaky vampire-chick, huh?” Ignoring him, I motioned then to follow me inside. I led them until about the middle of the cemetery and pointed to the angel headstone, “that’s it,” “What do you mean, aren’t you gonna check it out too,” Meathook asked. I shook my head, “No, I gotta head home.” “Lame,” Fangs retorted, “c’mon, dude, this’s bullshit.” “Hold on, dude, I wanna see her.” Fangs sighed and groaned before they started walking toward the grave. “Have fun; good luck!” I then turned around and made my way to the exit. Before leaving, I took one last look behind me towards the grave.

On the walk home, I closed my eyes and shook my head as I heard faint screams in the distance. She was there; white dress, dark hair and red eyes beckoning the boys further. I could almost swear she looked past them at one point, silently giving me an “atta-boy” before looking back at them. Admittedly, I wondered if maybe she’d extend the same mercy to one of them as she had with me. That optimistic idea died the next morning, however, when I saw the headline in the morning news:

“Two rock band members found dead in an open grave inside Ember Stone cemetery on morning of concert.”

I won’t lie here; part of me does feel guilty for what I did. A deal’s a deal, and I’ll be doing this same routine again next year with a fresh patron. In a way, I can’t help but find it funny; last night was, In more than one way, what you’d call a “dead night,” yet, my debt was still paid on time…