Bleach and Stale Beer

Jerry wiped down the counter with a rag that smelled of bleach and old beer. The neon sign outside hummed in the silence of the bar, the last of the few regulars having stumbled out to wherever they go about an hour before.

Jerry preferred the silence to the rattly jukebox and hollering drunkards.

Sighing, he bent to pick up a few empty bottles off the sticky floor when the front door creaked open.

“Bout to close!” He hollered over his shoulder as he tossed the bottles into the trash behind the bar.

“I won’t be long” a man said, his voice icy. “Just one drink is all I need.” Jerry looked to the clock. 11:55pm.

“Hmph, alright then.” He turned to face the man and startled. The man sure wasn’t from around there. Sharp black suit, dark eyes like wet coal. A wicked grin. Must be from the city, Jerry thought, though which city this serpent-like being hailed from was one Jerry wanted to avoid. Not that he ever left the mountain anyways.

Putting his surprise aside, Jerry leaned against the bar. “What’ll it be, friend?”

“Hmmm…whatever you might recommend for a...collector.”

“A collector?” Jerry asked. “I might just have something for yah.” He moved towards the far end of the bar and pulled out an old plastic milk crate from beneath the counter. He dug around inside, glass jars clinking against each other.

“Ah, here we go.”

The man watched Jerry with interest as he poured a “house special” moonshine straight from a rusty-lidded Mason jar. The liquid was so clear the glass appeared empty.

“This here stuff ain’t for the feint of heart. It’ll put some hair on that city-boy chest of yours.” He slid the glass across the bar, which the man caught while his eyes scanned the room, ignoring Jerry’s jab.

“Quiet night?” The man asked.

“Dead,” Jerry said. “Honestly, place has been like this for a while now. People moving away, or just… disappeared.” He shrugged.

The man arched a brow. “Disappeared?”

Jerry leaned against the counter. “Not literally, I don’t guess. The town’s just dried up. No work. No hope, People just…stopped showing up. Makes it feel like they just up and vanished. All I get is a few regulars here and there, the ones who couldn’t leave, for one reason or another I suppose.”

The man sipped the moonshine, then set the glass down gently. Jerry watched in amazement. He thought for sure he would have choked on that pure mountain-moonshine.

“And yet… you stayed.” The man said cooly, the air from his lips a cold breeze on the back of Jerry’s neck. Jerry rubbed at it with one hand.

“Well, yeah. Someone’s gotta close the place down.”

The man smiled, unnaturally bright in the dim light of the bar. “Funny choice of words.”

Jerry didn’t find it funny. The man’s smile, though perfect in appearance, had a wickedness to it that made Jerry shiver. He looked to the clock. 11:58pm.

The man pulled out a black, leather-bound notebook and pen, and opened it with deliberate slowness. “Would you like to tell me your story, Jerry?”

Jerry’s eyebrows furrowed. “How you know my name?”

The man didn’t answer. Just looked at him, waiting.

Jerry’s stomach did a somersault. “Is this some kind of joke? Did Marvin put you up to this?” Jerry half-laughed. Looking around, the darkened corners of the bar suddenly seemed more sinister. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was seemingly frozen in place, he would’ve made for the 12 gauge right beneath the register.

The man chuckled. “No. But as I said before, I am a collector. Of things and stories, of people…forgotten. The ones who stay too long, the ones who do not leave. I give them a last chance to be remembered.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Jerry asked. His heart raced despite the tough exterior he was presenting.

“You will see soon enough,” the man said, turning to a blank page where he wrote “Jerry” in looping script at the top. “Now, are you going to tell me your story? Time is running out.” He tapped the watch on his wrist as his eyes flicked up to Jerry.

Jerry moved back away from the bar, butting into the other side, his story pouring forth like the vomit that usually covered the floor.

“I, uh, yeah. I was a mechanic. Wife, two kids. Divorced three years ago. She took the kids, can’t say I blame her. I had nowhere to go, nothing else to live for. I moved back here, back to my home. Only thing for me to do here was the bar. It needed someone.”

“And so you stayed. Waited.”

“I guess… but, what am I waiting for?”

The man leaned in across the bar and whispered. “You tell me.”

The clock clicked. Midnight.

The lights flickered, the door locked.

Jerry’s mouth went dry. “What the hell is this?!”

The man stood, tucking his notebook back into his jacket pocket. He downed the rest of the moonshine, unfazed by the chaos surrounding him.

“Midnight’s passed, Jerry. Your story has been written.”

“Wait- what?” Jerry wheezed, the breath sucked out of him.

The man looked at him, a look almost like pity.

“Good-bye, Jerry.”

The man made his way from the bar towards the back hallway where no door should’ve been, the peel of his shoes on the tacky floor echoing in Jerry’s ears. The darkness swallowed the man whole.

The bar lights burst, and a peaceful silence settled over the place.

Then, a flicker.

The soft hum of the neon sign out front.

The smell of bleach and stale beer filled his nostrils.

Somewhere, a door creaked.

Jerry stood behind the bar. Wiping it down for what felt like eternity. He wasn’t sure what day it was, or how long it had been since anyone came in.

But still, he stayed. Waiting.

Someone had to close the place down.