No Trouble at All: A Winter Horror Story

From inside the bar, an orange glow is cast out through the windows onto the bed of snow outside. It illuminates the white powder, causing it to reflect with light, like sparks from a fire. The regular customers still manage to find their way inside, despite the heavy snowfall still trickling down. The bar stools are occupied by their nightly tenants, the coat rack overburdened with jackets, scarves, and hats, and the only thing missing is a man named Johnny from his usual seat at the counter.

“I don’t like this.”

“I know. With everything that’s going on.. All the people so far..”

“And the police still have nothing?”

“Not one suspect.”

“He might just be at home. We should call his house. His wife might answer.”

“I heard that no one has seen her around lately either. She might be the latest one. Another person…God! I hope the police find something soon.”

Lucy listens to her co-workers speculate. She knows Johnny well. She would, after having served him whiskey on the rocks every night for about two years now.

He was so heavy. I could hardly get him out of my trunk.

“I gave him a ride last night after my shift ended.” Lucy adds to the conversation, “He was so drunk he couldn’t have laid on the floor without having to hold on.”

“You’re a doll.” Says Alice, one of the older, veteran employees of the bar. She kisses both of Lucy’s cheeks, “Thank you again. I thought I was going to get stuck driving him home.”

Lucy nods, indicating that it was no trouble.

No trouble at all. I barely needed to use that much on him. He was blacked out enough that he would have followed me anywhere.

The string of Christmas lights wrapped around the interior of the pub provide only a dim sense of light to the room, and Lucy almost knocks over a glass as she reaches for a bottle of Tito’s. She pours its contents into a small glass and places it in front of one of her regulars.

“You’re always so good to me Lucy.” He replies pleased.

He should be next. Not even because he deserves to be, but simply because it would alleviate us all from his constant personality.

“Don’t get too used to it.” She responds with a smile, moving onto the next customer.

He’s worse than Johnny was. But then again, Johnny deserved it. This guy doesn’t. Being annoying isn’t a crime, and they only go if they need to go.

Before she has the chance to ask her next customer what he’ll be having, Lucy is distracted by the silver Rolex wrapped around the man’s wrist.

“A Rolex huh?”

“Hm? Oh yeah.” Responding as though he’d forgotten it was there, “It was a work gift.”

“Some work gift.” She remarks. You don’t get a watch like that from any job around here. He must be from out of town, “What kind of job do you have?”

“One that I’d prefer more vacation time from, rather than a Rolex watch.”

The wind outside begins to generate a howling sound. Lucy watches flakes of snow as they are carried into the air’s strong grasp, flying around wildly.

“Cold outside isn’t it?” He asks, looking up at her from his seat at the counter.

“Definitely,” Lucy responds.

There’s still snow on his shoulders. Why he’s left his coat on despite the heat radiating from the fireplace is beyond me. I didn’t even see him come in. I don’t like this. I don’t like him.

“Are you from around here?” She asks cheerfully.

“No, no. I’m here on business.”

“Sounds intriguing.”

“It’s really not.”

Lucy watches his eyes roam around the room before asking, “Do you need a drink menu?”

“That would be great.” He says, almost embarrassed, “I don’t get around to bars often.”

I could tell.

She nods and turns from him, walking toward the pile of menus they keep on a shelf by the door, usually never needing to touch them. She retrieves one from the top of the stack, wiping away a light layer of dust with a cloth before placing it in his right hand. His eyes trace downward along the menu’s list of drinks before coming to a stop at the bottom.

“Whiskey, on the rocks.” He declares, holding the menu out towards her.

“That’s funny,” Lucy says, almost under her breath.

The man with the Rolex tilts his head to the side before responding, “What is?”

That’s what Johnny always got.

She takes the menu from his hands, “Never mind. Coming right up.”

Lucy turns away from him and begins fixing the drink. She moves more slowly than usual, as it’s late in the night, and she only has a few customers. There is no need to rush. The wind continues to swirl outside, kicking powdered snow up against the window's glass shield. And that howl continues to grow, roaring like wind through a tunnel. High-pitch echoes of air slice through the trees that sway and shake outside.

I’ve always loved this time of year.

Placing the drink in front of him, her eyes wander to a bag placed on the chair beside him. Its black leather is worn, and the straps are weathered down. What’s in that bag?

“What’s in that bag you have with you?” Lucy asks quickly.

“Have you worked here long?” He returns.

“I- uh, yes. About two years now.”

“That would make you, what? Twenty?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Ah.”

He twists around, examining the bar. The flames from the firepit crackle and jump, and a few bulbs from the string of Christmas lights flicker on and off. The small chandelier that hangs from the ceiling contributes as well, light shining through the red lampshades, cascading the room in a dark glow.

“Get a lot of new faces in here?”

“Not particularly. Usually the same folks. Now and again we’ll get the stray traveler. Like yourself.” She concludes with a faint laugh.

“Yes,” He says, dolefully taking a sip from his glass. “Like me.”

A few moments pass without anything said. Lucy raises her hand in acknowledgment as one of her regulars waves to her from across the room, grabbing his coat and heading out into the cold. She walks along the bar counter, over to where he had sat, and clears his empty glass, stuffing the ten-dollar bill he left for her into her apron. Out of the corner of her eye, she glances at the Rolex man with the leather bag.

“You must meet new people all the time with a job like yours.”

Lucy walks back over to him, “Sometimes.” She spots some freshly cleaned glasses and begins drying them one by one with a towel, “Just the other night a lady came in here. She had been driving from Florida, she was trying to get up to Maine.”

I think she said, Maine. I couldn’t tell after a while due to her slurring. It hardly took three beers until she was disabled. I hardly needed to push, she told me everything about her. Her whole life’s saga. What she did. How she did it. It was right of me to take her out. The moral thing to do.

“Maine huh? That’s quite a drive.”

“Yes, well it’s a good thing we’re here. This bar is the only place to stop for miles. Not counting a few crappy motels and rest stops. Vermont’s weird that way.”

“Did she say why she was traveling?”

“Going to visit family, I think. People tell me their stories all the time.” Lucy puts down a glass she had been cleaning and bends forward, leaning onto the counter with her elbows, almost whispering in the man’s ear, “You know, my job title says bartender, but I’m really more of a therapist.”

“Is that right?”

Lucy stands back up straight, “Customers come in, get a few drinks in them, and suddenly I’m an ear, simply hear to listen.”

“That sounds like quite a burden.”

“Oh, I don’t really mind. Sometimes people just need to get things off their chest. Family problems, oldest wishes…deepest secrets.”

I don’t know what it is about me that makes people want to tell me all their secrets. Therapist, pshh, they treat me like I’m their friend. Their only friend. All their dirt, all the people they’ve hurt, or worse. I can’t even remember how many stories I’ve heard. How many people I’ve stopped?

The man takes his hand off his glass and looks at Lucy with clear eyes.

He must be in his thirties. I didn’t notice until now. At first, he seemed older. His demeanor. The few grays scattered throughout his head of hair. Overworked, I assume. Overworked and overpaid.

“Deepest secrets huh? That sounds like something someone would want to keep to themselves.” He says, his eyes locked on the ice in his glass.

“You would think so, yes. But alcohol brings out the honesty in us, don’t you agree?”

“Oh yes.” He concludes dryly.

“What’s that bag you have with you?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t have put it on the seat. Save room for more customers, right? I’ll keep it down here.” He picks up the bag with one hand and lays it on the wooden floor next to his feet.

He’s deflecting. But I won’t ask anymore. I don’t want him to get scared away. He’s hiding something, and he’s not leaving until I know what.

The bar has emptied out some. Only two of Lucy’s co-workers remain, the rest having gone home, and a few customers reside at the tables dispersed around the room, talking with one another, or sleeping. Only Lucy and the Rolex man reside at the bar counter. Her head turns to face the clock hanging on the wall, it reads one o'clock in the morning.

There isn’t much time left. I should do it quickly.

“…don’t you think?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Realizing she’s missed the beginning of his question.

“Oh, I was just saying how odd it is that we reveal so much of ourselves to bartenders. I think you’re right in comparing the occupation to a therapist.”

“Oh yes, it comes with the job.” She says with a laugh, “Another?”

“Please.” Lucy takes his glass and turns around to refill it.

Now. Do it now. He’ll never see it coming. I feel his eyes on my back. The next drink. Yes, I’ll do it then.

“I think, if I did what you did, those stories would follow me around.”

“How do you mean?” She says placing the fresh glass in front of him.

“Oh, well, you must hear some personal things. Childhood stories?”

“Yes.”

“Regrets?”

“Most definitely.”

“Past crimes?”

The wind screeches outside. The whiskey in his glass trembles.

“Crimes?”

“Yes. Past wrongs, I suppose. Unrevealed truths?”

He can’t know. I’ve been smart. I haven’t made any mistakes.

The man lifts his glass and takes a drink, his eyes never leaving hers.

Fuck. He knows. How? Stay calm. Stay fucking calm!

Lucy leans her elbows on the ledge behind her, careful not to knock into the shelves of liquor bottles that tower over her, yet her focus remains on the man, “A few.”

“Did Johnny ever say anything?”

Shit.

Lucy crosses her arms, and manages to lean further back, “Johnny?”

“Yes. Johnny Blake.”

Lucy looks around the room once more. Alice wipes down a table, snow piles up on the windowsill, and the string of Christmas lights continue to blink around the bar. The ice in the Rolex man’s glass clinks softly as he lifts it, taking another sip.

Everything looks so normal. If only people knew my life was ending.

“Does it ever bother you? The things you hear?”

“Why would it?”

“Well, some stories must be pretty serious for them not to have been told to anyone besides a bartender. You said it yourself, alcohol’s tendency to make people careless with the truth. I’m just wondering if Johnny ever said anything that might have surprised you?”

Yes.

“No.”

“You gave him a ride home last night didn’t you?”

I can feel my heartbeat in my ears.

“I don’t know who you think you-”

“What did he tell you, Lucy?”

Everything.

The Rolex man lets out an exhale of strain as he reaches down to the floor, collecting the leather bag from his feet, “Her maiden name was Miss Halloway,” He reaches into his leather bag and pulls out a small notepad. He flips through its pages until he finds the one he had been looking for, “and his wife before that, a Miss Winters.”

Lucy stands up straighter.

I’m in control. I’m in control.

“She’s been missing a week now,” he says while adjusting his stance on the stool, “I’m usually not one to make assumptions, but I believe you and I both know what happened, his first wife having disappeared the same way. Although there is no way to be sure without a body.” He closes the notepad, stuffing it back into his coat pocket, “He didn’t come in tonight?”

“No.”

“But he was here yesterday.”

“Yes.”

“When you gave him the ride?”

“Yes, after my shift.”

“You, as it seems, were the last to see him.”

Alive? Absolutely.

“He’s missing too?” My expression of shock has gotten very good lately.

“As of today, yes.” He places his crossed hands on the counter beside his drink, “What did he say?”

“When?”

“Last night.”

He knows I know. No point in denying it.

“That he killed them.”

“Both of them?”

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you how he did it?”

“Yes.”

“Before you gave him the ride home?”

“Yes.”

He came in, had a few, and started off about how he had to do it. Had to do something about her. How she was just like the last. When he said that, it all clicked for me.

Their eyes remain locked on one another, even when Alice trips and falls into the Rolex man, spilling her tray of drinks all over him, and herself. Alice profusely apologizes, scrambling to collect the mostly shattered glasses from around the man’s stool, and wipe the spilled beer from his coat.

Alice stands up straight, the residue of broken glass and soggy rags lying on her drink tray, before speaking to Lucy, “Lucy, would you get our customer another drink?”

God bless you, Alice. You make my life so much easier.

Lucy nods, turning her back away from the man, and begins to pour another whiskey into an unharmed glass, all the while Alice finishes wiping down his coat, him telling her not to bother.

Keeping it in a vial makes the whole process go faster. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it until the fourth one. Even now, watching the white powder slide out of the tube and fall into the glass, I’m filled with a sense of relief. Watching it dissolve into the drink has become something of a joy in my life.

Lucy’s heartbeat slows to its normal pulsing rhythm and her hands no longer shake. She turns back to him calmly, lightly placing the drink down near him, then folds her arms.

He doesn’t speak until Alice is no longer in hearing range, and when he does, it’s quite noticeable his tone has changed.

“I guess the only thing left to do is find and question him.”

He pulls his unzipped leather bag closer to him, and Lucy can see inside. A black ribbon rolls through the shutter of a tape recorder, and a red light blinks on the small machine. He lifts the recorder from the bag and switches it off, the red light powers down as he zips the bag closed and returns it to the wooden floor.

“You’re a cop.”

“Yes.” He reaches out toward the new glass of whiskey and lifts it. Yet, stops before it reaches his lips, as though halted by a thought. “I’m sorry for not getting to my point straight away. I just needed to hear what you knew. You should have told the police what you heard from Johnny right away. Keeping that information to yourself was a terrible idea.”

Johnny killed two people, and he’s lecturing me? The police wouldn’t have done anything. They never do. I handled it. I handled him.

“It does bother me.”

“What’s that?” His tone is lighter as his interrogation has ended. He now sits transformed into a man simply having a drink at a bar.

“The things I hear, night after night. Johnny’s story is just one example.”

“I hear quite a few stories myself, with a job like mine. This is just one case I’m working on at the moment.”

He finally takes off his coat and places it on the stool that had previously been occupied by his bag. He vigorously rubs his eyes, and relaxes his shoulders, letting his rigid state go now that he has collected the answers he’d come for. Lucy stands up taller.

“What else?”

“Hm?”

“You said this is just one of the cases you have at the moment. What else is there?”

“I really shouldn’t say.”

“You can tell me.”

“I shouldn’t-”

“Here. Have a drink with me!”

Lucy puts another glass onto the counter and pours herself a whiskey. Solidarity. That will make him spill.

Both Lucy and the cop’s lips touch their glasses, but before they can drink, a sudden noise erupts from outside. Lucy quickly sets down her glass and looks out the window at the wind, which has turned into a snowstorm. The freezing gusts of air spew the snowflakes about rapidly. The small white specks move around chaotically, without order, completely free.

What a lovely night for a walk.

She turns back to the detective, picks up her glass once more, and holds it up.

“Cheers! To my new friend.”

The off-duty cop with the Rolex watch clicks his glass to hers and lifts it toward himself. Lucy watches him, as she drinks from her own glass. This time, the glass does touch his lips, and he goes even further, swallowing the entire whiskey in one gulp.

It’s over now.

He rests his arm down onto the table and rubs his eyes. The cop carries on, “Ten people. Ten people so far. All missing.”

“Really?” Lucy gasps.

I thought it had been more.

“Johnny’s wives included, yet I doubt his involvement in all of them. One by one. People. Just, poof, gone. And there seems to be no relation between them. Unrelated people. No commonalities, no connections. Just that they hop in their cars, their final destination requiring that they drive through this area, and then they’re gone.”

“Maybe no connections that you can see,” Lucy says softly.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, sometimes people share things in common that aren’t in any file. Dreams, wishes…plans.”

“Like Johnny?”

“I’ve had lots of customers tell me their stories.”

“And what do you do with that?”

“I act on it.”

There’s no harm in telling him. He’s already dead.

Both of his elbows rest on the counter, his palms cupping his cheeks, “What do you mean?”

I’m sorry. I really am. But I can’t have him interfering. I’m doing a good thing here.

“I stop them before they can act.” Lucy states calmly, “Or ensure they will never do it again. I do to them as I did to Johnny Blake.”

“So you do know what happened to him?” His eyes were clear and attentive.

“Know what happened to him? I am what happened to him.”

He stares at her, blinking.

“How do you do it?”

“The same way I did to you.”

His eyes lower. They stare into his glass. He sits still, unmoving.

“I have to say… It’s smart.” He slowly spins the glass in his hand, examining it, “Undetectable. Untraceable. I’ll hand it to you. You made it hard for anyone to find you.”

“That’s why no one has.”

“Then how do you explain me?”

“You…you didn’t. You don’t have anything. You said it yourself.”

“Then how did I know about you? How did I know to come into this bar?”

None of this matters. He only has a few moments left.

Lucy stares into the man’s eyes and watches as a smile creeps up his face.

Her voice is flat as she speaks.

“You’re not a cop.”

“And you’re not a very good killer.”

He turns his drink over in his hand, revealing a red lipstick stain on his glass.

“I — ”

Lucy can feel her head begin to spin, fatigue taking over her limbs, her skin hot and sweaty. Lucy’s knees give out and she slides down the shelf stacked with liquor bottles onto the floor, concealed from everyone else behind the bar counter.

“I expected more. It was so easy to switch our drinks. My brother Johnny would be proud, I think. Although, he wasn’t the best judge of character. Falling for your game, killing his wives. I knew when he didn’t show up to work today what had happened, just as I knew he’d spilled his little secret to you.”

He leans over the counter, looking down at Lucy, her eyes half closed, yet still looking up at him.

“You look like you could use a ride home.” He walks around the side of the bar counter and crouches down next to her. He lays his finger on her breathless lips, shushing her imaginary response. “Shh, Shh. No, please. It’s no trouble. No trouble at all.”