Bar

• Brendan O'shea, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2008

There was the sound of an accordion emanating throughout the room, along with the distinct smell of alcohol and smoke. The mood of a bar at midnight was also quite different from that at six with only a scattering of drinkers, not packed tightly like at a football match.
I looked down at my glass, and swirled the alcoholic contents around, breathing in the poisonous fumes that surrounded me. The sickening sensation of breathing in smoke resulted in me erupting into a fit of coughing. Those around me stared apathetically as I choked on the fumes that were escaping from their blackened lips.
‘Stop!’ I cried in my mind, my lips refusing to part, my tongue imprisoned in a cloud of smoke. Slowly, someone walked over to me, and I felt myself losing consciousness as I smelt the stench of smoke radiating from his clothes. An image that till this very day still haunts my dreams leaned over me – yellowed teeth, bloodshot eyes, slashes in his face, and worst of all, that sickening, mocking grin. Furiously, he threw down his cigarette and drew a knife, but not just any knife. This knife had a series of teeth running down its fine, cutting edge, while each and every tooth was sharp, curved… and rusted.
He grabbed my face, and I felt that what little air could reach my lungs was now stolen from me forever. Slowly he brought the knife down to my neck, edging it closer, and closer, and closer…
He ran the teeth along my neck, and my hair bristled as he did so. I felt something running down my face, and he brought his own face closer to mine and revealed his dry, mutilated tongue. The way that he licked my face was almost lovingly. I cringed as he trailed his tongue around my face, running circles around my eyes, and trying to paint a smile across my face with whatever saliva remained inside of his dry body.
He retracted his tongue carefully, and opened his mouth wide, revealing his yellowed fangs. He brought his mouth over my nose and bit down on it, and if I had been allowed to use my voice I would have screamed Bloody Mary, the pain was so intense. I felt something else run down my face this time, but it wasn’t sweat, it was red, and it was trickling, and this insane man in front of me was practically lapping it up like a dog does to water.