Creepy - Creepaway Camp 2024: Day 5 - Harvest & Bartender

Episode Date: April 18, 2024

Harvest***Written by: Dgrady237 and Narrated by: Michelle Kane***Story link: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Harvest***This story is is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike License.***Bartender***Written by: Lorri Stackhouse and Narrated by: JV Hampton-VanSant***Support the show and get Mardi Gras beads at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound design by: Pacific Obadiah***Title music by: Alex Aldea Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Hey, everyone. Just wanted to remind you that for all of April, all new patrons get limited edition creepy logo Marty Grau beads, just as a special thanks. You'll still get all the rewards at whatever tier you decide to join. The Marty Grau beads are just a little something special to help us celebrate this year's creep boy camp. To find out more, check out patreon.com slash creepypod. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world.

Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. nervous? About what? Leaving John out in the woods alone for the last two weeks? Not really. Aren't you worried he's going to be mad? Do you really think it's worse than anything he's done to us? Okay, well, are you worried that he's going to be completely insane? Considering what the others said, it seems like he's spiraling pretty quickly. Michelle, it was his idea. He wanted to go out into the middle of nowhere to build a camp.

He wanted all of us to build it. Oh, I'm sorry. Are you a licensed contractor? Because I know I'm not. It's supposed to be team building. I'm pretty sure we've been doing plenty of team building without him. We did the Ghost and Vampire Tour, the New Orleans Secret Magazine Street Tour, checked out the World War II Museum.

Oh my God, that movie, us so great. And we have the Whitney tour scheduled, the swamp boats, and like a dozen other things all planned that we still have to do. Yeah, without John. He's with us in spirit. John? He's still here. John? Okay, brace yourself. Wrong podcast. You know what I meant. I'm just prepared to get him on the bus and bring him back with us if he's even as half as bad as... Hey! Oh! Oh!

What the hell? John, you've scared the hell out of us. Oh. Well, shame on me for responding when someone calls out my name. We were just coming out here to check on you to make sure... That I'm still alive out here after you all ditched me into the auspice of getting supplies, but instead decided to spend the entire month in New Orleans, drinking, eating, and having a great time while I'm... I may or may not be slowly dying out in the bayou?

That's pretty much exactly what I was going to say. Yeah. Are you mad? I was. I probably will be again. Fortunately, you caught me right after my sixth nap of the day. So I'm doing okay. Come on.

Let me at least show you around to see what I've been able to do, without any of your help, by the way. What's wrong? I'm not trying to lure you deeper into the woods just to kill you and sink you in the bog if that's what you're worried about. It wasn't. It is now. It's just that there's a blood moon out tonight. I don't like being out on nights like tonight,

especially away from the city. Why? Because of the harvest. Anna and her father looked down at the bloody goat carcass on their porch in silence. It was the third of their livestock to be slaughtered that month. The bodies always ended up in front of the house. This one was closer than the others. They stood there for some time, side by side.

Anna was a thin girl of 13 with dark blonde hair that hung down over her shoulders and limped curtains. Had she lived a different life, she probably would have been almost beautiful. But her face was hard and perpetually detourable. determined in an unnerving sort of way. It mirrored her fathers. Her eyes were large, round, and grayish blue. They were alert, but flat and somewhat calculating. The few folks in town who had had the rare chance of conversing with her found that it was somewhat unnerving to have those cold eyes look at you. They seemed to know just what you were hiding in your head. No pleasantries necessary with this young woman.

Her disposition made for a good farmer, though, like her father. She was precise with her work and unbothered by the business of raising and slaughtering animals on the farm. Her eyes flicked up to her father. He, Jarrett, a mostly silent but not unkind man, turned his eyes, which were not at all flat, but fiery and golden brown, back to her. He nodded. They hauled the body to the back field together, although one of them could have moved it alone. It was not a large goat, and it was missing its head and innards, which lessened the weight significantly.

That night, they burned the goat's body in a pit that had become the designated burning spot. They didn't want to use the contaminated and mangled meat, and they didn't want any animals coming in and sniffing around after it. Or maybe they didn't want whatever thing had been tearing up their livestock to come back. Either way, it felt like the right thing to do, and it had become sort of a ritual for them. One that each of them secretly felt like it was its own kind of ancient magic to ward off evil, or bad luck, or whatever it is that poor folks used to explain their misfortune. Anna's mother Ellen would watch from the window when they did this. her face a frozen mask of worry.

She didn't like the woods, and she didn't like the killing. She did the housework and had planned on doing the child rearing, but there had only been one child, Anna, and Anna took care of herself. So it was just Ellen hiding inside, keeping her mind busy as Anna and Jarrett did their duties every day, and now they're burning every night. That night Anna had a dream. She dreamed she was wandering through the woods near their farm, but everything was bigger. The brush was so thick she could barely push her way through.

There was no path, just leaf-lined ground and trees so thick they blotted out the sunlight. She was frightened and every noise made her pause and wait. She felt that something was stalking her. She could smell it. It smelled like the burning goat, burning flesh. Then the pain started. It ran up her legs to her hip bones. I felt like every bone was splintering and trying to push through her flesh.

She felt her arm bones go hollow, like something was eating the marrow inside, sucking it out. Her body creaked like dry twigs. And she screamed. She looked down to see her knees bending agonizingly backward, and her collarbone jutting out against her tightening skin. She knew somehow that her bones were gone, replaced by animal bones, bird bones, light and brittle and sharp. She fell to the forest floor, the weight of the meat in her body,

cracking her new frail skeleton. Her fingertips were bleeding, and she saw the tips, sharp talons pushing through her nail bits. The pain was like fire, and she wished she would die. Wish the darkening forest would take her fast so the awful pain would stop. And then it did, and it was dark. She heard a voice in the blackness, coughing and wheezing out the words. Killing harvest. Harvest for the blood moon, child. Anna awoke in her bed, crying hot tears, her throat throbbing from her choked screams.

She looked at her fingers, wanting for one insane moment to see the sharp talons so that she might tear them down her face and rip her eyes out. And then the reality of the cold room brought her dream-drenched brain back to normalcy. Her face changed back to its normal state so quickly it was as if she had never stirred at all. She just sat there on her bed, staring blankly at the window across the room at the half-moon that hung there, her hair clinging to the sweat on her forehead. Finally, she looked down at herself and saw that her underwear was drenched in blood. It was her first time.

That morning, Anna grabbed her knapsack and her mother's grocery list from the kitchen and headed into town. She hadn't said a word to her mother about her supposed induction into womanhood. She had simply cleaned herself up and scrubbed the evidence out of her sheets and underwear as best she could. She wasn't surprised by the arrival of her first blood. She knew what it was all about, but it didn't seem like the kind of thing her mother would want to hear about. Change often upset her, so Anna went with some tissues stuffed in her underwear and her usual determination to get the work of the day finished. She walked down the dirt road leading from the farm, looking down at her battered old workboots as she kicked rocks and worked her way toward the main road.

Suddenly a bloody mass of fur came into her sight line. She stopped, her boot only six inches away from it. She stopped and stared down at it. It was a cat, or rather it had been. Now it was hardly recognizable as anything at all. It was just a blob of black blood-matted fur. She could only tell it was a cat because of the sharp teeth jutting out of the small, crushed head. One triangle ear still stood out on top.

She felt ill at the sight of it. It wasn't a cat she had seen before, but its closeness to their farm made her uneasy. They were like psychotic gifts left around the property, for her and her family to find. Or maybe she was just falling too far into her father's psyche. For all the stoicism her father had on the outside, he had just as much superstition and paranoia about the world rolling around on the inside.

At night, when they stood by the fire, if there was something to be burned that night, he would tell her his theories. He had many, and they were not full of the, kind of magic that Anna would have liked to hear. They were dark and violent ideas about what the world was really made of. He was not the kind of father who would tell you not to fear the monsters in the closet. He would look you directly in the eye and tell you to be wary, and maybe keep a knife under your pillow. Anna pulled her thoughts and her eyes away from the cat and moved on

down the road. When she made it to town, she was reminded again of how secluded their lives on the farm were. She only came into town maybe once a month. Mostly, they got on eating off the farm or had some things delivered. She looked around at all the entertainment, a movie theater, a comic book store, a small wooden playground in the park. They all seemed odd to her. The only Anything she really liked to do for fun was read. It didn't seem there was much time for anything else, and although she didn't know it, her mind was far more mature than most people her age. She had bigger thoughts in her head than watching a cartoon movie about talking dogs or

reading beauty magazines telling her how to get some models look with five simple steps. She felt like an alien whenever she came into town. None of it made much sense to her. She went to the store to get her mother some soap and baking necessities. She got what she needed and briefly stopped in an aisle with feminine hygiene products, but didn't know where to begin to choose something or what to do with it if she did. She decided she would use the tissue technique until she asked her mother about it. She supposed it was inevitable and she would just have to deal with the awkwardness of the conversation.

On her way out of the store, paper bag in hand, She nearly ran into a boy whose name she couldn't remember. She had seen him a few times when her mother used to take her to church. His parents owned one of the big white Victorian houses on Main Street. She supposed they were rich, but that didn't mean much to her. Except that he and his mother and brothers probably didn't have daily work to do around the house, and they certainly didn't have to skip any meals. This boy was pale and soft, with little little.

sunken eyes that darted around as he talked. He looked at her chest several times during their brief conversation. She noticed men did that now, and she barely had much to speak of in the way of curves yet. She sometimes felt they were checking to see, or rather waiting to see when she would be ripe enough, to see if she had turned woman yet. She supposed now she had and wondered if this boy could smell it on her. you heard all about the dead animals? He said with a grin too wide for such a statement. Anna just stared at him. I said, have you heard about something killing all the animals? My daddy said there's a wolf or a bear or something roaming around out here in the woods.

But my ma says it's the devil come to reap. Reap? She said her eyes locked on his. Yeah, you know, take from us for our sins. Punishment for what we are. He listed off, obviously, parroting everything his mother told him. And what are we? She said, feeling lightheaded and wanted to run away from this Mooney Cottage cheese face. Humans! We're full of sin and lust.

You know about that, right? My mom says girls are the most sinful. especially trashy little sluts like you, he said. He caressed one of her small, newly formed breasts and winked at her. He was laughing at her, sneering at her, perhaps thinking he was doing a really fine and dandy job of making conversation on this lovely afternoon. Oh, wait, that's right.

My friend Tim says, you farm folk, only fuck animals. Is that right? he actually laughed out loud at this. Her head felt like it was full of bees, and a veil of red fury slowly lowered over her field of vision. She dropped her grocery bag, raised her arm up, and brought it back down with the swiftness of a cat, raking her nails across his cheek. It drew blood. The boy screeched and pushed her away. He clutched his bleeding cheek and backed away. from her. He tripped over the curb and into the street and landed on his cushiony ass. Anna walked over to him calmly, silently, and brought her foot up and then down directly onto his genitals. He coughed out a dry

scream, tears streaming down his face, rolling back and forth, crying. You, bitch! He was crying like an infant. His face red as a tomato writhing in the street. Anna stood over him, one leg on each side of him, and leaned down into his face. He went silent immediately and looked up at her with eyes like saucers. She crouched down and looked at him, her nose only three inches from his. There wasn't a hint of anger on her face then, just cold, analytical. curiosity. We don't fuck animals. We slaughter them, she said.

He whimpered. Do you know how to use a knight? No answer from him, just wide-eyed fear. I do, she said. She pulled a hunting knife out of her boot. I could bleed you dry with two cuts. Here and here. She mimed slitting his throat and his stomach with the edge of her knife.

He closed his eyes and promptly peed his pants. She stood up, gathered up a groceries. There were a few people standing on the store stutes looking at her, looking at her like she was some kind of beast. She looked back indifferently and turned and walked home. That night, Anna had another dream. In this dream, she was standing in the middle of her, bedroom. The wooden floorboards and white walls were all silvery gray in the moonlight. She could hear

scratching coming from the walls on the floor. The sound was light at first, and then it got louder, more desperate. She heard a low mulling sound start from under the bed. It sounded like a cat in pain. Then the screeching got louder like a hawk, and the sound was everywhere. It was a little. It was inside her head. She put her hands to her ears to try and block it out, but it only made it worse. Her back was against her window sill now, and she heard the crying coming from outside. It was human crying. Her eyes snapped open, and she could feel the cool air from the window, and she knew she was awake. She turned and looked out the window and saw her father shambling toward the pigsty. He was shouting.

to himself, crying, dry heaving, but he was still walking toward the animals. She slipped down the hall and passed her mother and father's room. The door was slightly ajar and she could see her mother standing at the window in her nightgown, watching him too. She turned toward her daughter and her face looked white as the moon, as white as bone. She looked like a corpse. For a moment, Anna had a wild thought that it was a mannequin, something her mother had put up for sewing. But then it moved towards her. She walked toward the door, looked at Anna with nothing but pity and deep sadness, and shut the door. She heard her mother drag a chair over and prop it underneath the door handle. Anna pulled herself away from the door and wandered down the

hall to the stairs. She wanted to go back to her room and lock her own door too, but she couldn't. She was scared for herself, but more scared for her father. Something was wrong with him. Something had been wrong with him for a long time, but she felt it was being kept from her, that secret. Her father seemed to disappear into himself around this time every year, and her mother warned her to keep some distance from him. She said it was the work, the harvest season that gave him stress. She left the house

through the back screen door and stepped into the cool night. Her bare feet touched the damp grass as she walked toward the sounds of the squealing pigs. She approached the pen slowly and could see the pigs pushing toward the fencing.

They were trying to get away from something and there was a clear circle in the center. of the pen. Then a scream, high and human-like, cut through the night. The rest of the pigs went silent, but for that one dying animal in the center. Then it went silent too. She moved closer, her legs trembling, threatening to give way, and she saw a figure rise up. I was her father, but he was changed. His shoulders enormous and hulking. His mouth too big and dripping. His face long and pointed like a hyena. He was clutching

half of the pig in fingers that looked like claws, gnarled and sharp and much too long. He was covered in blood that looked black in the moonlight. He looked up at the moon and cried out. He howled an agonized cry that made her moan with fear. Then he knelt again, and she could hear gurgling, ripping sounds. She tried to run, but her knees buckled and she knelt there, sopping. She put her hand over her mouth to stop the sounds. She looked back toward the house and saw her mother's ghostly figure in the window, watching. The pigs started to squeal again, and she looked back and saw the beast standing in the center, looking right at her.

gore and flesh hanging from his mouth. His eyes were black sockets with the flickers of sickly yellow light burning deep down, down through tunnels that seemed miles long. He locked eyes with her, and she saw his body convulsing once, flinching at her presence, and then going stiff as he assessed his prey. She screamed then, loud, and managed to make it to her feet. He made a lightning, fast moved toward the fence to get to her, but stumbled on the circling, grunting pigs.

She saw him go down. She ran toward the woods to try to cut to the road. All her mind could think of was get into town. Get some help. She pushed through the trees and bushes, oblivious to the scratches that were opening up on her face and arms from the sharp bramble. She ran her throat on fire and her body numb. She ran until she got to a clearing. It was so bright from the moonlight, she squinted against it. She saw the path that led to the road on the other side, but it was obstructed by a mound of dirt and debris in the center.

She ran toward it, but as she got closer, she saw that it wasn't a pile of dirt. It was a pile of bloodied animal carcasses. There must have been near a hundred dead animals. piled high. Their dead eyes staring dumbly this way and that. Suddenly she was being hurled to the ground. The wind was knocked out of her before she could even take a shuddering breath. She felt her arms being pinned down. Something was on top of her. Then something hit her. She felt an explosion of pain on her right cheek as warm blood dripped down into her ear. She looked up, dazed, and saw that it was

a boy. I was the boy from town. Two figures appeared on either side of him, his friends. Her eyes rolled back and forth between them, trying to focus. Another hit to her eye, and the pain jolted her back to reality. She looked into the eyes of the boy and could see the fury there. Got you dumb bitch, he spat in her face. The other boys laughed. She realized the one on the left had a bat and the one on the right had rope. The boy on top of her leaned down into her face. You're going to be nice now, right? I figured you might want to apologize to me.

We're going to have a good time now. He was smiling. Anna whipped her head up and crushed his nose with her forehead. Fresh blood exploded out of his face and flooded her mouth. She coughed and spit. He screamed. He screamed. The other boys began to tie up her arms and legs. I knew you and your family were a bunch of fucking freaks. I knew it. They'll give me a goddamn medal for putting a stop to this evil shit. He looked at the pile of animals and then to the

surrounding woods. She could see the fear behind his anger. But first, we're going to have some fun, he said. He licked her face from chin to eyebrow. He looked at her. He looked at her. wanting to see her fear, her submission. She spat blood into his eyes. She had plenty in her mouth. He grunted and wiped his stinging eyes with the shirt sleeve. He looked at her with such hate that she knew he probably meant to kill her. He put his hands on her throat and started to squeeze. One of the boys laughed and howled like a wolf, but not like any real animal. They sounded small and foolish in the dark of the forest where real monsters roamed. The boy was straddling her, holding her neck and smiling, and then he sat up and howled

at the moon as well. There was a whizzing sound and then a thud, and his head was gone. Anna gulped in fresh air as his grip loosened and then fell away. His body slumped over and fell to the ground. The other boys were screaming, running. She rolled over on her side, gasping for breath. and saw her father, or what he had become, standing over her. He looked at her and then leapt over to the boy's rolling head.

He picked it up and tossed it onto the pile of dead animals, and then went off into the trees after the other two. On the other side of the clearing, closest to the road, Anna could see dark figures lining the trees, some with torches. She didn't know how many there were, and they were watching. then suddenly they began to retreat back toward the town she could see there weren't many stretching all the way back to the road anna closed her eyes the shock and loss of oxygen was too much for her and everything went black when she woke up she gasped in cold air and sat up the sky was starting to lighten with the day her ties were cut and she sat up and saw her father was crouching next to the rotting pile nearby. She looked at the pile of animals and saw the heads of the three boys neatly lined up on top, their faces eternally frozen in screams. Father and

daughter regarded each other. His eyes were his. He seemed afraid of her, ashamed maybe. She crawled to him, put her arms around his neck, and hugged him gratefully. He wrapped his arms around her, and hugged her back. Looking over his back, she could see a ring of more carcasses, deer, dogs, cows, and more bloody meat sacrifices that she couldn't identify, didn't dare try to identify for her own sanity's sake. They were littering the tree line where the townspeople had stood,

their own yearly offerings left to be collected. He picked her up and carried her back to the house. Their duties for that year's harvest, complete. Pop? She looked up at him with tired eyes. He looked down at her. Those boys, she started, they won't be missed. But their parents.

Their parents should have taught them the rules. You're a woman now. It's time your mother and I teach you, too. It's time you know what you are. Anna closed her eyes and slept. I don't think you have to worry about werewolves out here, Michelle. I've been out here for years and never seen anything like that. John, you've been here for about two weeks.

Seriously? Well, regardless. No werewolves. But I have seen owls, cranes, pelicans, hawks, turtles, otters, mosquitoes, and neutria. Basically a big rat. Well, that doesn't sound too. But I suppose it's also good to watch out for wild pigs, American alligators, Louisiana, black bears, snapping turtles, and bobcats. This doesn't really sound like the best place to set up camp for a...

Oh, and there's the snakes, too. I've seen Eastern Diamondback, Rattle Snakes, Texas Coral Snakes, Eastern Yellowbelly Racers, Mud Snakes, Western Pygmy Rattlesnakes, Northern Scarlet Snakes, Rainbow Snake, Buttermilk Racer, Tan, and Northern. and cotton mouth, banded water snake, Congo snake, red corn snake, pit vipers, and king snakes. Oh my God. I know, it's a lot. But at least there's some of these fuzzy little guys. Ah!

Oh, oh, my God. What? John, don't move. You're holding a brown recluse spider. Its bite will literally liquefy your skin. Is that what all these holes in my torso are from? Oh, oh my God. I think I can see your lungs.

Well, I've officially lost my appetite. I didn't see that one coming since the last bar. We don't need to tell John about that. What? Did something happen? Not something. Someone. The bartender. The boob sweat hadn't trickled yet, but had formed a mushy puddle in my bra.

Can I smell myself? Possibly. But I can't smell any worse than the street I'm currently stumbling down. New Orleans. What assessful. Planning this trip had taken a while. Guidebooks consulted, webcast viewed. I chose my hotel carefully based on the data.

that I'd mind. It was supposed to be safe and close to the so-called action of Bourbon Street. I arrived at the hotel a few hours later than planned due to a flight delay. The Uber was unable to reach the main entrance and dropped me off about a half a block away. The tiny plastic wheels on my suitcase were no match against the brinketrable. broken sidewalks. When I finally heaved my way around the corner, the entrance of my hotel was blocked off by a yellow string of police tape. I stood there awkwardly, sweat beating on my upper lip, until a police officer took pity on me,

plucked the wheelie handle from my fist, and ducked me under the tape and into the sweet, cool hotel lobby. I learned from the front desk clerk that someone had been shot catty corner from the hotel a couple hours before I arrived. Never thought I would be grateful for a flight delay. I relaxed in my hotel room, letting the chilly air dry my clammy skin. Digging through the suitcase, I chose a billowy flowered blouse to keep me cool and hide what I could of my bulk. knee-length shorts to prevent thigh fires. Are they called clam diggers?

I had scraped my hair into a high ponytail that I hoped looked youthful, and wore pink hoop earrings that matched the shirt. Shoes were sensible turquoise sketchers. I doused my underarms groin and underboob with deodorant powder. A lot of good that did. and then ventured out into the streets of the Big Easy. And here I am, on Bourbon Street. I had to keep looking down so as not to trip on the broken sidewalks and curbs.

Even so, I stumbled as if I were already drunk. As if dodging the holes in the sidewalk weren't bad enough, I also had to skirt around numerous homeless people who were sleeping, or passed out, in doorways, and sometimes in the middle of the walkway. No one else seemed to care, so I tried not to stare as I tiptoed around them. And the vomit. Who knew there would be puddles of chunky vomit? It was barely 5 p.m., but loud music had already spilled onto the street.

Not the brassy jazz that I had expected. Instead, I heard hip-hop, country, and some 80s rock, the latter being belted out from really bad karaoke singers. The bars had barkers who urged passerbyes to come inside, boasting of no-cover charge or $2 shots. I kept my head down, lumbering through the throngs of party-goers. How did people get so drunk so early? The eyes that I met looked glazed, distant,

like they weren't sure where they were or why they were there. Sometimes they had the sober friend, who was trying to steer them through the crowd. A substantial portion of the women were barely dressed. Occasionally beautiful. Long, shiny hair that didn't have a drop of sweat. Glowing skin. I avoided their eyes always.

Which was easy because I basically didn't exist. Fat, ugly women had. held no interest for them. And so, I walked. The sweat from my neck was dampening the collar of my blouse, and I could feel my armpits getting slick and wet. So much for the deodorant powder, but it was the best I could do as I was allergic to antiperspirants.

Even my toes were sweating, crammed into the little athletic socks. wouldn't be long before those sketchers started to wear blisters on my feet. According to my primpeded map, and no, I don't use GPS, the location I was looking for was only a couple blocks away. Thankfully, I turned off Bourbon Street into a narrow alley. Here the sidewalks were entirely made of bricks, or were made of bricks. made of bricks.

But the homeless and piles of puk ended at Bourbon, so I was thankful of that. Passing by some almost cute homes, I saw the sign of the establishment that I sought. The Vampire Cafe. I entered what seemed like almost complete blackness after the blindingly bright street. It was deliciously cool and smelled of cherries.

A beautiful pale woman child, wearing a black dress, greeted me. Her smile did not reach her eyes as she looked me up and down. I guess I wasn't her typical clientele. She reached for a menu and started to lead me to a table, but I told her I would just sit at the bar. The smile on her face faded even more, but she allowed me to pick my way between empty tables to a row of swivel-stools.

Sliding onto the slippery vinyl, I rested my forearms on the chilly wood. The AC felt wonderful. I could almost feel the sweat on my forehead evaporating. The sweat puddles in my breast, turned cool and moist. The bartender smiled openly at me and handed over a cocktail menu,

much friendlier than the hostess. The menu was painted on black silky paper, imprinted with baths. I ordered the Bloody Mary, of course, and then leaned back to take in my surroundings. It was cute. Exactly what one would imagine of a vampire cafe. Everything was draped in black cloth.

Candelabras, battery-powered, were festooned with cobwebs. There were dark red goblets illuminated behind the bar. All the waitstaff wore tight black clothes and goth jewelry, dark red nails and black eye shadow. They serve food, too, thus the cafe part. The dishes that I spied coming out of the kitchen looked rather good to me. I hadn't eaten since yesterday, and my pendulous tummy was getting growly. My drink was placed on a bat-shaped coaster before me, with another smile from the bartender.

I took a sip, smiled back, and declared that it was the best blow. Bloody Mary I had ever had. She smiled even broader and turned to craft more drinks, carefully reading each computer-generated receipt. The bloody was really good. Nice little kick of spice, generous vodka. A few tips later, I could feel the tension start to ebb from my shoulders. Yes.

This was nice. I was feeling very fulfilled and very brave for making this trek alone, regardless of my physical limitations. I frowned down at myself, getting a good whiff of my ever-increasing body odor. My thighs splayed over the bar stool, spilling off each side. But they were barely visible under the prominent pouch of my bed.

belly. Not even the hidden flattener in the shorts could contain it. Oh well, I shrugged, the vodka hitting my brain like lightning. It is what it is. I sucked up the pinkish remnants of my drink, feeling the black pepper on the back of my throat. Almost immediately, the pretty bartender asked me if I'd like another, and I nodded vigorously, yes. She met my eyes as she mixed, adding a dash of this and a squirt of that. You visiting from out of town? She asked. I smiled shyly and replied.

Yes, I heard about this place, and it was first on my list to visit. Good for you, she said, and set another gorgeous bloody on a fresh coast. This one was just as good, maybe better. The bartender came around again and asked me if I wanted to order some food, but I said no. She looked a little disappointed, so I took out my credit card and asked her if I could open a tab. She brightened up at that, gladly took my credit card,

not even glancing at the imprinted name. She swiped it, paused briefly as it was a little. approved and then handed it back to me. Can I buy you a drink? I asked her. At this she turned, looked directly at me, and said, Oh my gosh, thanks, but we aren't supposed to drink while we're on the clock, but I appreciate the offer.

After that, she made a point to stop and chit-chat with me, in between drink orders. She was genuinely friendly, just busy. as heck. I watched as she bustled about, occasionally wiping her forehead on the back of her hand and sighing. But the moment my drink was three-quarters gone, she was asking if I wanted another. What are those? I ask, pointing to some clear baggies filled with red liquid. Those are blood bags, she replied, crinkling up her nose. Taurus order them, filled with red wine, like blood bags in a hospital.

She mozoned to a table in the corner where a man with gangly arms was sucking on one. It was a little gross, and I suppressed a hot, spicy burp. Then I'll switch to vodka soda, I told her, and she smiled in approval. Four, maybe five. vodka sodas later, the bar was full to beyond capacity. What little food was being ordered had a tough time making it through the sea of people. It was hard to guess the time as it was perpetually dark in there. 10 p.m. maybe later. My little bartender had been joined by two others, and they ricocheted behind the bar like pinballs, trying to keep up with the drink orders that were constantly

spewing from the compact printer. I waved my hand to her, and she pushed her way between her two co-workers, wiping her hands with the towel. I think it's time for me to call it a night. Can you get my check? Of course. She moved her fingers over to a screen and produced a very substantial check. I glanced at it, barely flinched at the amount, and filled in a 30% tip.

She took it from me, pretending not to look at the tip, but then paused, placing both hands on the bar face down. Here it comes. What I had been waiting for, planned for. Lowering her voice and moving her face closer to mine, she spoke, big. barely loud enough for me to hear. If you're interested, we have a very private and very exclusive speakeasy over on Bourbon. I can give you the password if you'd like to visit. My eyes gleamed, and I pretended to hesitate. A speakeasy? Oh, wow.

A giggle. That does sound amazing. She produced a business card from the pocket of her apron. It was black like everything else in this place. She pressed it into my hand. Here is the address. It's a jazz club, but just walk on through to the very back. Go out the back door and you'll find yourself in a courtyard.

There will be a vampire waiting there. Tell him Virginia sent me. patting my hand, she winked and then whisked away to her bottles and spigots. As I slid off the stool, I could feel the weight of my body, crushing my knees and swelling my already swollen feet. My sweaty clothes had dried, all except my bra, which felt tepid and slimy. Walking outside felt like walking into a jungle. The stink of the city was almost solid in my nose. The air was thick, humid, and I felt it clinging to my skin.

Painfully, I walked back to Bourbon Street. Consulting the little black card every block or two, making sure that I was stumbling in the right direction. Nessled between a country-weigh, bar and a massage shop sat the jazz club. That was its name, Jazz Club. A live band on a small stage played music, but there wasn't any jazz music. I entered and wove my way to the very back, pushing between drunks, ignoring the glances of disgust. Sure enough, there was. There was a door. The door opened easily enough, and I stepped through to a quiet, almost serene

courtyard. I could still hear the band, but it was muffled. If I tried hard enough, I could pretend that I was listening to jazz. A lengthy man dressed in black, of course, was lounging in a folding chair, long legs crossed, staring at his phone. Excuse me. I spoke. He didn't look up. Didn't react at all. Hello? A little louder. Same response. My voice got an edge. Virginia sent me? He rose at once and bowed. To his credit, He did not react to my appearance or smell.

Right this way. Please come inside. His voice was deep. Pushing back his long black hair, he inserted a key into the door I hadn't noticed before, and stood tall and held up his arm, beckoning me inside. The door opened to a staircase leading up. I climbed the stairs, exhaling with each riser, feeling even more sweat seep out of my body.

I heard the door shut and lock behind me. Excellent. The stairway opened into what could only be described as a parlor. It was charming. Despite the heat outside, there was a fire merrily burning in an ornately tired. fireplace. A real candelabra lit with real candles was perched on the mantle. There were several upholstered high-back chairs and a plushed pink sofa that I wanted to tumble into. A fat yellow cat was curled upon it and barely blinked as I entered the room. Beyond the gathering room, there was a small bar, being tended to, by which,

one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. She was pale as death, shiny black hair hung like a veil to her waist. She was wearing a black corset with red trim and a black ribbon choker around her tiny neck. I was instantly attracted to her. She smiled at me as I wandered over to her, and I noticed, she had little fangs attached to both her canine teeth. The color was close, but not an exact match. Her hazel eyes were rimmed with black liner

and were topped with full dark lashes. Welcome. What can I get for you? Her voice was dusky, and I detected the Louisiana accent in just those. few words. My eyes lingered on her full red lips. A Bloody Mary, please.

A small nod, and she began to make my drink. I watched her. Every movement like poetry. Someone cleared their throat behind me. I turned to find a man seated in one of those high-back chairs. He was also dressed in black. and his eyes were watching me. I thought I could detect a sneer on his face,

but the shadows hid him so well that I couldn't be sure. I was sure that he had noticed me watching the beauty behind the bar and did not approve. I took my drink from her slim hand and sipped, Good, not as good as the cafe. idly, I turned and made my way to the French doors that opened onto a small balcony overlooking Bourbon Street. From this height, I could safely view the full debauchery that was happening below me. A woman weaved through the crowd, her arm thrown over a slightly less intoxicated man,

her shirt barely on her body, one nipple clearly on display. A few steps away, a man dressed in a business suit, steadied himself against the wall as he emptied his stomach onto the sidewalk. I quietly stepped back into the room and crept behind the bar. Her back was to me as she half-heartedly wiped a dripping beer tap. I snaked one hand over her mouth, the other across her chest, immobilizing her. Her hair smelled of nightflowers. Before she could fully struggle, I bent back her head, bared her throat, and sunk my fangs into the soft flesh of her elegant neck. The blood was hot, sweet.

I inhaled not only the blood, but her. her very essence. As I took her blood and her spirit, my body, or rather, the form that I had stolen, began to slough away like a rubbery Halloween costume. My life force pushed into her body, melding with her, as the fat, sweaty carcass that I had inhabited melted upon the floor. I loosened my grip as her struggle was over and slowly sank the rest of the way into her. Kicking away the slimy flesh in the flowered blouse, I admired my new self.

My wrists were slim, delicate with blue veins. My breasts spilled lusciously out of the red-rimmed corset. I licked the blood from my lips and smoothed my satin sheet of black hair. Yes, this would do very nicely. A group of middle-aged tourists emerged from the stairway and into the parlor. I turned to greet them with a wide smile. They exclaimed over my fangs, slapping each other and declaring how real they look. I laughed along with them and took their drink orders.

The night was young, and I was still hungry. Okay, I was wrong. I could eat again. Oh no, look at the time. Sun should be coming up any minute now. Ugh, no, I'll be in the bus putting tint on the windows. Good luck. never comes out looking right when you do it yourself. It's so hard to get the air bubbles out. Okay, well, I suppose I should get JV back before the skin melting.

Yeah, that's probably for the best. Do you want to come with us? What? I asked if you want to come with us back to New Orleans. Oh. Weird. No one's asked me that yet. Um, yeah, that'd be nice.

I could really go over some red beans and rice. Let me just grab my things. One sec, I just want to... John, what was that sound? Nothing. I'm fine. It sounded like something metal snapping shut. Um, yeah.

It was a bear trap. Did you step on the bear trap? Yes. Are you currently stuck in the bear trap? Also, yes. Would you like me to take you to the hospital? Normally I'd say yes, except that the bear trap is chained to a tree with a padlock.

And where's the key for the padlock? I swallowed it this morning. If you want to wait a few hours, though... Do you have a saw or something to cut through the tree? Um, no. You know what? I think I'm just going to hang out here for a while. Go ahead, go back without me.

On second thought, I can't leave now. It'd be like giving up. And that decision has nothing to do with you being caught in a bear trap? No. John? Huh? Are you going to try to chew through your leg like a wolf? Probably.

Okay. Well, I'll send someone back with bandages. Now that you mention it, I could really go for some red beans and rice myself. See you later. Bye, Michelle. Drive safe. Looks like it's just you and me, my fuzzy brown, evidently lethal. Woodland friend.

Quick. I need you to use your acid blood to melt through these chains. Quickly. Like the wind, my friend. Wait. What, what you, what are you doing? What? No, no, no, no, the chains.

No, not my, the chains, not my pants. No. No! Oh, stay out of my pants. No. No, get out of there. Hey, don't. No, no, no, no, no.

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