Tansy Undercrypt
Author, Illustrator, Purveyor of Doom & Whimsy


November 28th 2017 in Microfiction

“Woah! WOAH!” Natalie shouted as her bar stool swayed in time to the music. She reached down and rapped on the tusks that formed the legs. “None of that, please!” Edgar smiled. The band was playing “Bitch Better Have My Money” as a funeral dirge. “What are you going to have?” he asked, looking at the Baleful Hour specialty menu. “Bloody Mary,” she replied. “Same as ever.” He nodded and pressed the button to shock the zombie bartender into shambling over. Staring into their newly arrived cocktails moments later, Natalie sighed. “What did you get?” she asked, curious. “The Innsmouth,” Edgar responded loudly over the growing noise of the crowd. The blue green liquid in its hurricane glass gave off the stench of brine; it was topped with fog from dry ice and garnished with a writhing tentacle. “It’s good. How is yours?” he asked, looking over. “Well, for starters, it’s not O Negative like I asked,” she complained, “and there’s no eyeball.” “This place,” Edgar began, interrupted by a werewolf who slammed into the bar while chasing a laser dot from the stage. “Has gone to the dogs,” Natalie finished his sentence with a smile. They both laughed. “Still …,” Edgar added, “it IS our special place.” “There is only one Gothic Speakeasy,” Natalie agreed, and clutched her purse tightly so that nothing crawled in.

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