A Night at The Lonesome October
1
Cal Callum smiled as he wiped the wooden bar top in front of him. It was story night, and the tables were full. Everyone had something to say, and Cal gave them that. He knew his place was the only one in town that offered that. It was like open mike night, except stories were the stock in trade.
Every Wednesday night for two hours, people took turns saying whatever they wanted to say.
"We're out of sausages, Cal," said Bert Tasker, holding a tray in one hand as she came by the bar to go to the kitchen in the back of the Lonesome.
"Tell Mike to get some from down the street," Cal said. "I'll pay him back at the end of the night."
"Will do," said the short blond as she vanished through the swinging door.
Cal noted the gray man entering the Lonesome and settling at a table near the back, near the bar counter. The guy was really regular, showing up every other story night. Cal remembered him because of the metal ball he had chained to his wrist. Some weird guys came into the Lonesome to tell their tales, but this guy only listened while he ate, then left.
And he always ordered the same thing every time he came in.
Cal went to the swinging door, pushed it open enough to talk to the commander of the controlled chaos that was a kitchen.
"Hey Mike," Cal said. "I'll need a steak special with the salad, blue cheese for dressing."
"That guy is in tonight?," said Mike Kalutzki, flipping burgers like coins on the grill. "I wonder what's up with that ball chained to his wrist."
"Ask him after you get through with the orders," said Cal. "Don't forget to get a voucher for those sausages."
"I think I can handle that, grandma," said Mike, waving thick fingers in dismissal.
Cal got behind the bar. Ridley Harris, the night bartender, already had a coke in a glass of ice drawn. He waved one of the servers over and sent it over to the Gray Man's table on a tray.
"Why this extra effort, boss?," Ridley asked. "I know that guy's a regular, but so are most of these people."
"I'm just curious about that thing he's lugging around," said Cal. "He puts it on the chair beside him, and it's strapped to his wrist. Who chains a bowling ball to his wrist?"
"A crazy man who might bring in a gun and shoot everyone in here," said Ridley.
"I don't think so," said Cal, smiling. "If he does, I'm using you as a human shield."
"Like that will help," said the much thinner, smaller Ridley.
The two filled up glasses, working the bar easily. Waiters and waitresses carried their trays to waiting customers. The crowd thinned as Story Hour approached. Cal leaned back with crossed arms as the first speaker went to the little podium. He kept one eye on the gray man. Empty plate was pushed aside, a metal sphere on the table as he waited for the storyteller to speak.
Cal loved the stories, no matter if they were groaners, or masterpieces. The only thing he didn't put up with was the ramblers. As soon as the story turned into a morass where he couldn't figure out what was going on, the next guy or gal was on. That was the only requirement Cal put on.
Have a point, or vacate.
The first story was about a dragon that ate kids when they got too close to a sewer. There was no explanation on how the dragon got in there, but Cal appreciated that its treasure hoard was made of bones.
Cal smiled slightly as the next talker stepped on the stage. This was going to be a good night.
2
Cal listened to every story, enjoying some, wishing others were done before they finished. He and Ridley poured drinks with ease as the customers listened and made comments. Story Night seemed to bring out the best in some people.
The front door slammed open. A woman in a white dress entered, looking around at the crowd. Her wild eyes ate at Cal as he turned to see what was up. Two others came into the room, taking position beside the white lady with sneers on their twisted mouths.
"Donovan of the Lamp," said the white lady, pale skin glowing under the October's lights. "I have come for you to revenge my love."
"This is something," said Ridley, sliding up beside Cal, polishing a glass.
"This is Story Night," said Cal, frowning at his bar tender. "We have rules."
"Excuse me, miss," said Cal, walking from behind the bar. "We don't want any trouble here. Could you please leave?"
"Donovan has to pay for what he has done to me and mine," said the white lady. "I have waited so long for this. No bartender is getting in my way."
"Cal Callum, this is Sophia of Miza," said the gray man. "Sophia of Miza, this is the owner of the Lonesome October, Cal Callum. Do you really want to battle here in the middle of these innocents, or will you wait for a little longer?"
"Are you talking about a deal?," said Sophia, regarding the two men with a scowl.
"I would like to listen to the rest of the stories," said Donovan. "Mr. Callum would like to run his business. You would like a chance at me. An hour or two will satisfy everyone."
"Why should I do that?," asked the white lady, white hair flipping down her back.
"Because I said so," said Donovan. "That's the deal. Take it or leave it."
"Why shouldn't I just lay waste to this miserable pub?," said Sophia, raising her hand. Her attendants took on a watchful air, waiting for her signal.
"Hey," said Cal. "This is my miserable pub, thank you very much. I think an hour of waiting will do you good."
"Get on with it," said Sophia, looking at the round neon clock over the bar. "One hour exactly."
"You can sit at my table," said Donovan, gesturing with his free hand. "Give us a bottle each, Cal. I'll pay for it."
"Right," said Cal. "Excitement's over everybody. Let's get back to the stories."
Cal walked over to the bar, shaking his head. He got four bottles of beer from Ridley, placed them on a tray, and carried them over to where Donovan and Sophia had sat down. Her attendants stood behind Donovan. Cal handed out the four bottles, but the attendants held up their hands to show they didn't want any. Their two went to the two people sitting.
Cal went back behind the bar. He kept his eye on the couple, wondering what their problem was. He didn't like trouble in his business. These two smacked of it. And he had thought Donovan was a good guy too.
"This is going to be ugly, isn't it," said Ridley, sidling close. "What are we going to do?,"
"We're going to wait," whispered Cal. "Maybe ghost girl will calm down and let this blow over."
"Look at her," said Ridley, keeping his indicating gesture small so he wouldn't be noticed. "She's watching the clock. We can only hope they'll take it outside at the end of the hour."
"You were always complaining about it not being exciting enough for you," said Cal.
"I can't believe you said that," griped the bartender.
"Just get to work," said Cal. "I'll get Mike to start shutting down the kitchen. We're closing as soon as we can."
"Last call?," said Ridley.
"As soon as Myra clears the stage," said Cal. "I think we've interrupted her enough tonight."
"Romancing the dark handsome vampire elf lord should be interrupted," groused Ridley, before going to stand by the bell behind the bar. He waited to ring the bell with a small mallet to signal no more drinks for the night. It was early, but the customers would understand.
Some of them would anyway.
3
Cal nodded at Mike's letting him know the kitchen was closed. He and Ridley had served the last drinks, and ushered those that were leaving out already. There were still some hangers on, waiting right up to the door was closed and locked before they left.
"That Donovan looks like a cool cucumber," said Ridley.
"Cool cucumber?," said Cal.
"He's sitting there like he's not waiting for trouble to happen," said Ridley. "We both know that chick is going to wail on him with her goons as soon as we close."
"The police won't show until there's trouble," said Cal. "Already called them. As long as she's not doing anything, nothing they can do. A car will be around to escort her off the premises for trespassing, but unless she gets something started, there's nothing we can do until closing time."
"Five minutes," said Ridley. "Do you really think they'll throw down right here?"
"Yep," said Cal, locking the register, and the glass rack behind the bar. "Let's get this over with."
"Everybody, we're closing up for the night," Cal announced. "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."
"Do you always have to use that line?" Ridley whispered.
"Do you mind? ," Cal whispered back.
"You heard Donovan of the Lamp," said Sophia. "It's almost time for you to pay."
"I'm willing to let you go in peace," said the gray man, standing. "There doesn't have to be any trouble."
"I will never forgive what you have done," said Sophia, flexing her hand at her side. "I have been looking for you for a long time to repay you."
"Go ahead and take that outside," said Cal, looking around the bar. "Personally I would like it if you both head out away from the bar."
"Silence, human," said the white lady, glaring at Cal. "This doesn't concern you."
"It does, if you want to damage my bar," said Cal. "I spent a ton of money getting this boat floating. No broad and her two goons are going to smash it up because they have poor impulse control."
"What did you say?," asked Sophia. Each word came out an octave higher.
"Let's go," said Donovan, gesturing with his free hand. "I'm the one you want, not a bartender."
Sophia and her two goons went to the open door. Patrons either went out ahead of her, or waited until her group went out before exiting themselves. None contested her standing in their way. They just went around the grim trio in white.
"Dude," said Ridley. "Don't go out there. Just wait for the police."
"The police can't do what needs to be done," said Donovan, hoisting the metal ball on his wrist. "Whatever you do, don't go outside until I tell you."
"You want help?," asked Cal, hanging up his apron on the bar's gate. "Three on one is bad odds."
"Just stay inside," said Donovan, walking to the door. "I usually don't work for free, but I can't run away from this."
"Work for free?," said Cal.
"This is what I do," said Donovan. "Stay inside, and stay away from the windows."
He went to the door, pausing at the threshold. He held his bowling ball up. Cal noticed flame in the reflection in the door's window. The gray man had a set look on his face.
"You heard the man," said Cal. "Lock the doors and stay away from the windows."
"You don't have to tell me twice," said Ridley.
"This is going to be bad," said Cal.
"Fifty bucks on the bowling ball guy," said Ridley. He poured himself a coke from the bar's soda spouts.
Cal gave him a look.
"I got a feeling," said Ridley. "These guys are the real thing, and he's going to win. I'm willing to put money on it."
4
"Last chance," said Donovan, holding up his lamp, looking around the empty parking lot in front of the Lonesome October. "I'm willing to let things lay as they have for these years."
"My memory says you have to die," said Sophia, her hands writing on the air. "It's long past time for justice."
A wave of darkness rushed over the gray man, almost snuffing the light out of his lamp. The ground faded away under him. He swung the lantern around, throwing the flame out to show his surroundings, finding a tube of greasy light running on all sides.
The tunnel flew apart, dropping Donovan on a torn up field. He knew where he was. It wasn't a place he wanted to be. This is where he had been chained to his lamp, been saddled with his curse, told to go be someone. Essentially it was the last place he wanted to be, or be forced to recall.
This was also where he had last seen Sophia and her brood.
Over to Donovan's right sat the Grayfield House. On his left, rows of the dead lay for burial. He had been on the grave detail after the battle. That had been a nasty piece of business.
Sophia's husband, Gerald, had been on the opposite side. He had hidden in some bushes away from the battlefield until it was over. He had tried to steal a horse to ride clear of the mess. The grave detail had been ordered to drop him in the pit that had been the fate of the enemy dead after they had been stripped of anything valuable.
Donovan had taken a silver chain, the very chain holding his lamp to the manacle around his arm. He knew that was how he had been identified by Sophia after the war had moved on. He didn't know how she had tracked him down unless she had followed his regiment from this site to the next looking for him, or someone like him.
They had dragged him back here to Grayfield House. They had wanted Gerald's body, marking him with their touch. They had placed the lamp and the curse on him to make him dig up the mass grave. Gerald's body was the only one that looked untouched by the ravages the rest of the corpse's had undergone. Only the single gunshot in the forehead marked it.
Sophia's lackeys thought they had a good hold on the infantryman. He had been forced to uncover the grave for them, and he would pay for shooting her husband in the head. The need for revenge was there in her eyes without the need to say anything. Things swam there, waiting to rip him apart.
Donovan didn't wait for his demise. Instead he struck with the lantern at the end of his arm. He had been shot, and stabbed as he fled from the burial ground. He thought he would bleed out, but he was able to find shelter in the shadow of a stone wall. He felt weak and delirious until the sun had shone on him for the first time the next day.
Then he had felt nothing at all.
Donovan found himself in an alley a hundred miles away from the battlefield. He didn't know what had happened to him, or what a burden he had been placed under. He was just relieved to be away from his tormentors.
The next few days told him his limits. He could only travel between sundown and dawn. As soon as the sun rose, he found himself in that same alley the next night. He couldn't release the lantern from his arm. Even cutting the arm off was useless when the sun repaired him as soon as it shone on him. He found out about careful dealing the week after that. Any task he agreed to perform, he had to carry out. He had options on how to do it, but once started, he couldn't stop until it was done no matter how many days he took to do it.
He had been digging a ditch for some time, having it closed up, redigging it, closing again, until he had found that he could claim the ditch was finished before it closed again. That allowed him to move onto another job.
5
Donovan didn't wait around. He held up his lantern, letting the flame light his way across the field. He had an idea that he wasn't really in the past. Sophia wouldn't want him to meet his younger self and changing history.
Donovan felt this was a setting, a pocket dimension where Sophia controlled everything other than him. Things could be lurking here, ready to rip him apart. Dawn wouldn't come to reset him if she declared it.
That meant he had to be as careful as possible while trying to make his escape. Avoiding fights wasn't the way he did things, preferring the direct approach, but he didn't see an alternative.
Donovan went directly away from the house in the distance. That was probably Sophia's headquarters. Since he didn't want to meet her, he felt it was better to try elsewhere for his exit.
The gray man touched a ripple at the edge of the field. He put the lantern through, looking around. He was not pleased to see a spark of flame behind him in the distance. It looked like he was going to the house after all.
He stepped through, shaking his head. He should have known that escape wouldn't be easy. It looked like this little reality was really only as big as a man could see across it.
Donovan made his way to the front door of the two story house. He wondered why Sophia had brought him here after being so hot and bothered wanting to kill him at the October. He added that question to his list as he crossed the yard, making a bee line for the front porch.
Maybe he could even get some answers before she tried to kill him.
Donovan kicked open the door, holding his lamp up for light. He didn't like the dust and cobwebs everywhere. It meant no one used the front of the house. If the rest matched that, then he was alone in a place he couldn't leave.
He was trapped but good.
The gray man searched the house, moving from room to room as fast as possible. He was alone in the huge house, with no food or water, no way to know if time passed, or if he would be stuck in that little alcove of existence until he could figure out a way to get home.
Sophia had stuck him good.
Donovan wound up in the library. He looked over the books as he thought about what he could do. It didn't look like he was able to do anything. There might be a chance his lantern could find his way for him, but he doubted that the woman in white had dragged him all this way to leave him imprisoned.
That would be too impersonal for the amount of rage she had displayed.
Hello, Donovan, said a voice out of the air, the wind making sounds for a human throat. I finally meet the man who killed me. I thought you were taller.
"What's this all about?," asked Donovan.
Sophia wants to exact her revenge. I want to be free. You want your curse lifted. It can be done if you know how.
"Why should I believe you?," said Donovan. "You might want some revenge too."
I'm unable to move on while Sophia wants to hurt you. It's far better for me if I help you escape in the hopes that you will free me from this place. The incentive of learning how to undo the lantern curse should be more than enough to convince you of my sincerity.
"What's your plan?," Donovan asked.
6
Sophia smiled. She had waited a century and then some to have her revenge. She had once thought this day would never come. She was surprised when it had.
Donovan's unique nature made it easy to locate his general whereabouts. He couldn't leave his source point unless he set up another one. That meant he was confined to one area. The curse would move him back to that point every sunset.
She spent some time trying to find that point. When she did, she still had a small problem. Donovan's residence was somewhere inside a city that was growing around it. If she hadn't seen his picture in the paper, she would have given up and moved on.
Her wraith henchmen had located the bar after much searching. They always seemed to miss him, but his scent had been all over the place. She forced herself to be patient until she saw him going in.
Sophia had used the curse she had partially placed on the gray man to handle him. His extradimensional cell was the size of a lot. He would never escape from that. Helpless and out of the way was fine for right now, but she had plans for Mr. Donovan.
He would know how to suffer when she got done with him.
Sophia looked around her own library tucked away in a niche of shadow. Among the books on the shelves were things that would turn a man into a mass of boneless jelly torn by pain forever. That was just the start of what she planned.
Her husband had gathered most of the tomes and manuscripts. He enjoyed the hunt through ruins and possessions that most treasure hunters underwent. Then he shared that knowledge with her, showing her secrets and dreams she never thought possible.
That was how she had kept her husband's ghost alive after his mortal remains had crumpled to dust. One of the books had shown her how to preserve a spirit. Hopefully he was terrorizing the gray man while she conducted her research.
Eventually she found something she thought she could use. She would have to enter the cell and confront her husband's murderer. His lantern was the key to his curse, and her further defining it.
Donovan would wish he had died those years ago. Her revenge would make sure of that.
Sophia memorized the patterns depicted in her books. Key words marked the borders, marked the transformation into something lower than just a cursed human. All she needed now were the ingredients to her elixir of hate. Her servants would gather those while she made some preliminary drawings to use.
Donovan had taken her husband away from her and lived to carry on under a curse that wasn't near unpleasant enough. It was time she did something about that now that she had him under her thumb.
7
Donovan's wooden face was a perpetual frown. That hid his thoughts from the outside world. Still he felt a twinge of something left over from before he had been cursed to his night life.
Donovan held up his lantern, letting the flame wax orange out of the triangular eye holes. The fake room faded away as the air burned. A white fog appeared, wrapping around the round ball at the end of its chain, vanishing as the room vanished.
The gray man hoped the spirit was right about his wife. Otherwise, their scheme would be shattered like thin ice.
Donovan swept fire along the fantasy house. The false image came apart around him. He couldn't leave his cell, but at least he had a plain view of the limited world he was trapped in.
A harsh wind blew up, scattering dirt and dry leaves across the empty field in front of the missing house. White became servants of welded cloth, glaring down on the gray man with empty eye sockets.
"What have you done?," said Sophia, forming herself out of snow flakes.
White eyes took in the ruined setting. Her revenge would have been perfect with the punishment being meted out within sight of her husband. This was intolerable.
Donovan swung his lantern, smashing the nearest lackey in the featureless face. Flame spilled on the white golem as the metal ball broke its face apart. The gray man turned and smashed the next nearest one in the chest. His burden spun on its silver chain, as he walked toward the reason he carried it.
"You're a fool challenging me," said Sophia, white hair whipping in the artificial wind of the place.
"We could have had a peaceable truce," said Donovan. "You made this choice."
The remaining two constructs charged the gray man. He waited patiently, spinning his flaming lamp on its chain. The white constructs reached for him. The cursed man struck with his mace, flattening the one on the right, as the other grabbed his arms and constricted around him, holding him tightly.
"You are going to pay one way, or the other," said Sophia, holding her book in her hand. "You might as well accept that."
"Your husband didn't love you," said Donovan. "He was glad to escape your clutches."
Sophia walked over to where the gray man struggled with his captor. She punched him in the face as hard as she could. Blood spilled from a cut lip.
"You don't know a thing," said Sophia, looking at her place in the book again. It would be good to wipe this nuisance away after so long chasing him.
"I talked to him," said Donovan. "I know. He said he couldn't wait to get away from a tyrant like you. Being shot in the head was the best thing that happened to him. He only regretted that he let his spirit get caught by you."
"You're lying," shouted Sophia. "My husband loved me. He loved me!"
The white lady stepped closer, fury twisting her face. Her fist slid back to deliver another punch to silence her tormentor. There would be so much enjoyment in silencing him forever.
Donovan flipped his wrist. The lantern on the end smashed against her face. She fell back with a hot brand mark on her cheek. Smoke drifted from the mark as the round ball bounced back against the cloth man holding him prisoner. The rebound wrapped the lamp around the bottom of the head of the golem. The gray man pulled the silver chain through the cloth, pulling his captor into two pieces. Both of the sheets of cloth fell to the ground.
8
"You should have killed me then," said Donovan. "I have been dealing with wizards and monsters since I took on your curse. Since I know you won't remove the curse, I think you can at least let your husband's spirit move on."
"I'll kill you," said Sophia, bringing her hand up to summon more of her familiars.
Donovan stepped in and swung his lantern. The tough metal bounced off her face again, sending her to the ground. He gave her a kick to make sure she thought about healing her face before trying to stop him.
"I think its time you talk to your husband and get with the program," said Donovan. "Then I want a truce."
"You can't talk to me like that," said the white lady, rubbing her ruptured face with one hand.
"I made a deal to give you a chance," said Donovan. "This is it. After it's gone, the deal's over."
Sophia looked at him, fires burning in her eyes. Things that she wanted to do to him welled in her mind. Being strapped to a lantern was nothing compared to what she could do.
"Better listen, Sophia," said a white fog boiling out of the lantern. "It's time to stop this."
"This is not the way we wanted it," said Sophia.
"It's not the way you wanted it," said the ghost, becoming more human as the fog solidified. "I want to be released to find another life. That's the way of things. When we die, we are born as babies in the real world. It's time to recommence the cycle."
"I'll never give you up," said Sophia. The marks on her face were faded flowers shrinking to nothing. "We could have had more than this if he hadn't took you away from me."
"If you hadn't held me," said Gerald, arms making a shrugging motion. "We could have found each other again by now and had another lifetime together."
"How can you say that?," demanded Sophia. "I did it all for you."
"No, you did it all for you," said Gerald. "I want you to release me. It's the right thing to do."
"I can't stand to be without you," said Sophia, reaching for his misty form.
"I'm not giving you a choice," said Gerald. "Voluntary release me so I can be reborn, or I will ask Donovan to extinguish my light. His lantern can do that at least. We made a deal."
"You wouldn't," said Sophia. "That would consign you to darkness."
"Is that any much worse than this?," asked the husband.
"Do it so we can move on," said Donovan. "None of us want to be here forever."
Sophia weighed her options. No matter what she did, Donovan's flame could devour her husband's spirit form in seconds. She would lose everything she was trying to conserve. It was the choice of a lesser of two evils. She felt her face firm as she made her decision.
"I release you both," she said, anger and hurt mixing with the arcane sparkle from her spell casting.
The world shifted sideways, the plain with its burning effigy fading to an open square near a museum to commemorate the ancient battle. Donovan raised his lantern, letting the glow light his way.
"Find me, Sophia," said Gerald, fading away. "Find me so we may love each other again."
The two enemies watched the fog drifting apart until they turned to face each other, malice on the woman's face, the man's unreadable.
"If you want to fight," said Donovan, "we can. I just want to go home and forget I saw you. I'm willing to let things lie as they are."
"I will settle for a truce for the moment," said Sophia. "I don't want to see you again either."
"Then it looks like we have a deal," said Donovan.
The gray man turned and started to walk away. Sooner or later the sun would rise, and he would be gone for the day. The night would bring on another thing for him to handle.
epilogue
Cal Callum polished a glass as he looked out over his saloon. Once again it was story night, and he was ready to hear some tales. Ridley handed a beer out at the other end of the bar with a flourish. Business was good, so they were moderately busy.
"Look who just walked in," said Ridley, nodding at the customer crossing to his favorite table.
"Didn't expect to see him again," admitted Cal. "That Sophia looked really serious about doing damage."
"He doesn't look the worse for wear," said Ridley. "It's hard to tell if he's happy, or not."
"Tell Mike to go ahead and get his steak ready," said Cal. "Service with a smile."
Ridley nodded, walking over to the kitchen and placing the order before a waitress could go over to the table in question. Cal pulled a glass of beer and handed it to a girl to carry over. He saw the guy nod when she talked to him.
"Mike says he's on it," said Ridley. "You want to know what happened, don't you?"
"I guess I'm just a nosy kind of guy," said Cal. "It has to be a neat story, one we'll remember for a while."
"I don't think he'll tell us what happened," said Ridley. "Sometimes it's best to leave some things alone. Sleeping dogs can still bite."
"I know what you mean," said Cal. "Still I would like to know what happened between them. I'm sure there is a great story there."
"Look who just walked in," said Ridley. His eyes were tight as he looked around for a place to duck. "It's the same lady. Maybe you should go over there before things get started."
"You're fired if I get killed," said Cal, walking around the wooden counter. The two weren't exactly smiling at each other, but they weren't looking like they were going to start cutting each other apart either. That had to be a good sign as far as he was concerned.
"How's it going, guys?," Cal asked the glowering couple. The both of them looked at him with a sense of go away, or else. He put on a smile.
"We won't kill each other, Cal," said Donovan. "We're just discussing the rest of our business."
"We would like some privacy, saloon keeper," said Sophia, the white lady.
"Would you some food, ma'am?," said Cal. "Mr. Donovan's steak and fries will be out in a little bit."
"Give her the same thing," said Donovan. "Another beer, too."
"I don't need that," Sophia said. "I just wanted to come and talk with you for a little before I left town."
"We can talk after I eat," said Donovan. "Especially since Cal has already started making it. You might as well eat with me, then we can talk about anything you want."
"Two steaks and fries, two beers," said Cal, holding up two fingers.
"Not beer," said Sophia. "I prefer some Scotch please."
"Sure," said Cal. "I'll have your glass out to you in a minute."
Cal smiled as he went back to the bar. It looked this might be the start of something even if it wasn't a friendship.