The Veiled Tavern

Evan stood in the dark kitchen, watching the pub-goers file out, waiting for the landlord to dim the rest of the lights and lock up.

He gave it five minutes before emerging from his aromatic (he judged burgers and chips had been on special that day) hiding place. Jeremy, the aforementioned landlord, was always paranoid that he had forgotten something, and was usually right. A side effect from sampling the produce during the day and indeed dabbling throughout the evening.

Evan moved to the window and saw Jeremy driving away. He made sure Jeremy had definitely turned the corner at the end of the muddy lane before putting the sign out. A sandwich board that he had got one of the afterhour’s regulars to cast a spell on, rendering it only visible to fellow guys and ghouls:

Witching Hour at The Veiled Tavern

Midnight – 3am

Double up on spirits

Well-behaved familiars welcome!

After putting the sign out, Evan returned to his spot behind the window. His official haunt, given that was where he fell to death five years ago when hanging Halloween decorations.

One of the customers had left a flyer on one of the tables. A chancer hoping for a spot of free advertising, he surmised. However, as he turned it over the streak of moonlight filtering through the glass showed him it was actually an order of service.

Ray Matthew Farrant

12/04/1970 – 15/10/24

“BOO!”

Evan would have jumped out of his skin if he’d had any. A pale, laughing face had appeared and blackened talons were screeching down the window.

“Cathy,” he announced, opening the door. Her pointed hat arrived slightly before she did. She was always bent over, scouring the ground for potential ingredients. Plus she was continually striving for the ‘dowager’s hump’ look. It made Evan itch to do some yoga himself, even though that was one of the plus points about being deceased – no longer having to do any exercise to stay in shape. “Again at the window. A credit to the gothic literary clichés. Never change.”

“Never intending to,” Cathy smugly replied, putting her bag on the table. Or rather, her ‘going out’ cauldron. “Here. The back pain meds you ordered.” She dipped a lacy gloved hand into the cauldron and plucked out a matchbox.

“Ah, thanks Cath. You’re a legend.”

“A myth, a legend, you can call me what you want as long as you keep me in liquor.”

Evan still sometimes felt the pain from his life-ending injuries. Just like how the living could experience phantom limb pains from where they’d had an arm blown off. Common sense told him it was all in his head, but taking the pills made him feel better nonetheless. It was likely because Cathy sugar-coated them. He didn’t have to worry about things like getting diabetes anymore. Another pro of being conned out of life.

Cathy was examining the same printout he’d been reading.

“I guess the wake was ‘ere then, was it,” Cathy said, reaching over the bar to grab a bag of peanuts. (Jeremy always assumed his staff were choosing to tip themselves with bar snacks and luckily for everyone involved, chose to turn a blind eye).

“Yep. He was a popular guy, judging by the turn out.”

“A handsome one too,” sighed Cathy.

“Steady now. He’s only been gone five minutes.”

Cathy shrugged, then held her hand out to catch the bottle of red Evan slid over to her. On the house, as payment for the magic pills.

They were interrupted from further analysis of the dearly departed Ray Matthew Farrant by the sound of wings beating down the chimney.

“Here he comes,” said Cathy, not looking up from decanting most of the bottle of wine into a pint glass. She was never one for small measures.

The bat flew out, knocking some of the smouldering embers onto the rug in from of the fireplace. Evan was already waiting in position with an ash shovel.

They ignored the ‘winged mouse’ (as Cathy had once dubbed it – and to its face as well – after a night of 3 for 2 on tequila shots) while it did its traditional circuit of the pub. Deciding it was satisfied, it alighted on a barstool at the other end of the bar from Cathy’s. Winged mice can harbour grudges, as they never taught you on the Discovery Channel.

“You do like to make an entrance, don’t you Teddy?” Evan acknowledged.

“It’s Edward,” haughtily corrected the man now sitting on the stool, elegantly repositioning his cape so it was no longer under his posterior. Mother didn’t like it when it got creased.

“Whatever you say, Eddie,” said Evan, while Cathy snorted on a glug of wine. “Your usual, sir?”

“Please,” replied the vampire, topping up his face powder from a compact he kept in one of the pockets of the cape that Mother had kindly sewn in.

Evan laid out a little napkin, as he knew Teddy liked, and placed a Bloody Mary on it.

“No garlic, yes?” asked the vampire, his lip quivering.

“No garlic.”

Edward nodded his thanks. Evan detected a flare of the nostrils just before he took a sip though. He guessed that was what came of being so used to Mother doing everything for him. He was surprised she let him out at all, even if he was approaching his 550^th birthday. No, that’s not a typo.

“So what’s new?” Edward asked, dabbing daintily at his mouth with another napkin. Evan reckoned he usually got through more napkins per night than drinks.

Cathy held up the summary of Ray Matthew Farrant’s life. “This. Have a butchers.”

“Hold the steak,” Edward tittered. “Bit of vampire humour there for you.”

“I’ll hold my laughter instead,” Cathy drolly replied, topping herself up.

Edward took his turn in examining the booklet. “Rather young. Such a pity. He looked…succulent.”

“Would you calm down, the pair of you? It’s like a gawking pair of teenagers,” tutted Evan.

His punters scowled but complied. You didn’t argue with the man who was pouring the drinks.

There was a rapping at the door. The witch, the vampire and the spirit exchanged glances.

“You can just come through, you know,” bellowed Cathy, who now sported a boozy line of lipstick.

The doorknob rattling.

“No, not like that,” sneered Edward. “Pass through.”

Evan held back from giving the guy a hand. It was better to learn the new ways as early as possible.

There was a faint exasperated huff behind the door. But then, a hand emerged from its centre.

“That’s it mate, you’ve got this!” shouted Cathy. Edward touched his earlobes hoping to indicate there was really no need for such volume, but of course this gesture was lost on the witch.

The full form of the succulent, handsome, gone-too-soon Ray Matthew Farrant eventually forced its way through.

“Wahey!” Cathy applauded the bemused spectre.

“Late for your own funeral, old chap,” noted Edward.

“Greetings, pull up a pew. Ray, isn’t it?” asked Evan.

Ray looked around the pub and then down at his shoes. He patted his chest then rested his hand there, where once a heart had beat.

“Do you know,” began Ray. “I’m not even sure anymore.”

“Welcome to the club,” laughed Edward.

“You spend life trying to figure it all out,” said Cathy, stifling a hiccup. “Then death comes along and you wonder why you spent all that time worrying about it.”

“You’re not exactly dead, Cath,” Evan pointed out.

“Yeah but I spend enough time with ‘em to bleedin’ know what I’m talking about, thank you. Anywhere, where was I? You did good Ray!” she waved the order of service about. “Come see what they’ve written about you.” Cathy patted the stool next to hers.

Evan started mixing the Newbie Negroni special he liked to serve the latest lost souls, while he watched the old familiar scene play out. There were lessons to learn in death as well as life as it turned out, contrary to whatever bollocks Cathy was spouting, and an early one most of the men learned was not to sit too close to Cathy, who either wanted to kiss you or turn you into a toad – there seemed to be no middle ground.

“I think I shall take my leave now,” announced Edward. He held out a jaundiced hand for Ray to not want to shake. “Welcome to the rest of your death. And don’t overdo it on Evan’s negronis, the hangover will make you want to die all over again.”

“There are still hangovers?” Ray asked Evan after he’d recovered from the sight of Edward morphing into a bat and exiting through the chimney.

“Yep, but the pills are better,” confirmed Evan, winking at Cathy.

“And you want to know what else is better?” Cathy asked Ray, then leaned forward to cup a hand to his ear, making sure he got a good look at her cleavage.

Evan sighed. He decided to go back to his hiding place to indulge in whatever leftovers he could find. He knew how the story that was brewing back at the bar played out. Every time. It was the one thing you could count on in this strange new life called death.