Guests by Kealan Patrick Burke

Author:Kealan Patrick Burke
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: winter, snow, horror, monsters
Publisher: Elderlemon Press
Published: 2022-11-30T00:00:00+00:00

9

“WON’T IT BE GOOD TO GET OUT OF this horrid old suit, Dottie?” the lady with the violet hair said as I approached Dorothy’s table. The rest of the guests had moved away and gathered in the gloom to enjoy their post-dessert coffee. Some were still singing that strange song, which put me in mind of long-forgotten gospel songs played at varying speeds on an old gramophone. It made my head hurt the harder I tried to divine the words.

“Ma’am?” I said, when I reached them. Dorothy was sitting with her head lowered, lips downturned, still looking small, as if she wanted to crawl inside herself to escape. Her hands were clenched in an unsuccessful attempt to keep them from trembling. Next to her sat the woman with the violet hair and hard eyes. She sat sideways in her chair and leaned in close to her sobbing friend, one arm hooked across the back of Dorothy’s chair. So intent was she on the upset woman, it took her a moment to notice me standing there. When she did, her smile stopped short of her eyes.

“We’re fine, thank you.”

I ignored her and to Dorothy said: “Ma’am, is everything all right?”

“I told you, we’re fine. We have everything we need.”

"If it's all the same, I think I'd rather hear it from Dorothy.”

Dorothy wouldn't look at me.

"Are you sick? Do you need assistance?"

Still nothing. She just looked down at her hands and sniffled softly.

I looked at the woman. "I'd keep a close eye on her if I were you. She's not looking well."

She chuckled dryly. “I think if you’ll take a look around, you’ll see that none of us are.”

“Still. She’s very upset. Might not hurt to keep tabs on her.”

"Which is what I was doing before you poked your nose in. Why do you care anyway? Shouldn’t you be behind the bar sneaking whiskeys or throwing lusty eyes at that pretty young waitress? What was her name? Naomi?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“My name is Agnes, by the way, and you’re Mark, isn’t that right?”

I was about to ask how she knew when I remembered the gold nametag on my waistcoat.

“It’s good that we’ve been introduced,” Agnes said. “I have a feeling one day we’re going to be very close, and I for one cannot wait.”

"Look, I'm just asking if she's all right."

"She's probably not." Agnes reached into her purse and withdrew a pack of Menthol cigarettes. "But she will be before the night is through. And trust me, honeybear, after spending most of my life working in theater, I can spot melodrama a mile away.” She pronounced it theatah. “What poor Dotty doesn’t understand is that to truly sell a scene, you must commit to it entirely, body and soul. Otherwise, what is it other than a charade?"

“There’s no smoking in here.”

“Would you prefer I go outside and die of cold? I’m sure your manager would love that. You two seem so close.” She looked up, glassy eyed, the cigarette poised in front of her lips.

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