Youngstown Demon
When He speaks you listen. Your feet fall one in front of the other as you move along with the force of the breeze. It leads you across the street, a car screeches to a halt inches away from hitting you; the driver curses at you out of his window but you pay him no heed.
There is an urgency to the breeze as it continues to steer you down the block to the next corner. And then suddenly it stops and you find yourself before Cedars Café, a restaurant and bar. Looking up to the sky for guidance you find that He offers none here. Shrugging your shoulders you assume that you have reached your intended destination and step inside.
The artwork on the walls has always been the best part of the café, all done by local Youngstown artists. A smile curls at the corner of your mouth as you note that one of the paintings was done by one of your more recent victims. Artwork tends to increase in value upon the death of the artist... Looks like you did the guy a favor.
The café is virtually empty, a lone couple sits at a table along the wall; neither of them speaking. There is a hostess or a waitress standing behind the desk, she smiles at you politely but otherwise pays you no mind as you walk through the room to the rear exit which takes you through the empty enclosed patio and into the bar on the other side.
There are a good twenty plus people within the bar, most of them sitting at the bar but a few filling the booths. It must be happy hour or something.
You walk to the opposite side of the bar, where virtually no one sits, and take a seat. The bartender is with you in a few moments and you order a cosmopolitan. You've never had a cosmopolitan before, but they always order them in the movies and you figure why not try it?
He brings you back a glass of the deep red drink and when you try to give him money he waves it away and tells you that the drink has been paid for, pointing to a creepy looking older man at the other side of the bar who raises his drink to you as if in toast. You smile back in thanks and put the drink to your mouth. It tastes of cranberry juice.
A little while later, as you are nearly finished with your drink, the man who bought you the drink approaches you.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi," you reply. Great, now he's going to want to talk.
"Did you enjoy the drink?" he asks.
"I did," you say.
"You from around here?"
"Yeah."
"Oh yeah? Where?" He asks as though you had truly revealed something interesting.
"Around here," you reply coldly.
There is a moment of silence between the two of you before he speaks again. "I'm John," he says.
"Nice meeting you, John," you respond, taking down the last bit of your drink and walking of to the ladies room.
You take your time in the lavatory, washing your hands diligently before returning to your seat at the bar. Thankfully John took the hint and is no longer there waiting for you.
When the bartender gets around to you, you order another cosmopolitan. You pay for it yourself this time, five dollars. It doesn't quite taste like it's worth five dollars, but it's good enough and you paid for it, so you drink it.
An hour or so passes and you order a third and fourth cosmo. You take your time drinking the fourth one, but eventually you are done. When the bartender returns to offer you another drink you tell him no and get to your feet.
You glance at the clock. You've been in here for almost five hours, it's getting dark outside.
There hasn't been a sign all night.
There is an urgency to the breeze as it continues to steer you down the block to the next corner. And then suddenly it stops and you find yourself before Cedars Café, a restaurant and bar. Looking up to the sky for guidance you find that He offers none here. Shrugging your shoulders you assume that you have reached your intended destination and step inside.
The artwork on the walls has always been the best part of the café, all done by local Youngstown artists. A smile curls at the corner of your mouth as you note that one of the paintings was done by one of your more recent victims. Artwork tends to increase in value upon the death of the artist... Looks like you did the guy a favor.
The café is virtually empty, a lone couple sits at a table along the wall; neither of them speaking. There is a hostess or a waitress standing behind the desk, she smiles at you politely but otherwise pays you no mind as you walk through the room to the rear exit which takes you through the empty enclosed patio and into the bar on the other side.
There are a good twenty plus people within the bar, most of them sitting at the bar but a few filling the booths. It must be happy hour or something.
You walk to the opposite side of the bar, where virtually no one sits, and take a seat. The bartender is with you in a few moments and you order a cosmopolitan. You've never had a cosmopolitan before, but they always order them in the movies and you figure why not try it?
He brings you back a glass of the deep red drink and when you try to give him money he waves it away and tells you that the drink has been paid for, pointing to a creepy looking older man at the other side of the bar who raises his drink to you as if in toast. You smile back in thanks and put the drink to your mouth. It tastes of cranberry juice.
A little while later, as you are nearly finished with your drink, the man who bought you the drink approaches you.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi," you reply. Great, now he's going to want to talk.
"Did you enjoy the drink?" he asks.
"I did," you say.
"You from around here?"
"Yeah."
"Oh yeah? Where?" He asks as though you had truly revealed something interesting.
"Around here," you reply coldly.
There is a moment of silence between the two of you before he speaks again. "I'm John," he says.
"Nice meeting you, John," you respond, taking down the last bit of your drink and walking of to the ladies room.
You take your time in the lavatory, washing your hands diligently before returning to your seat at the bar. Thankfully John took the hint and is no longer there waiting for you.
When the bartender gets around to you, you order another cosmopolitan. You pay for it yourself this time, five dollars. It doesn't quite taste like it's worth five dollars, but it's good enough and you paid for it, so you drink it.
An hour or so passes and you order a third and fourth cosmo. You take your time drinking the fourth one, but eventually you are done. When the bartender returns to offer you another drink you tell him no and get to your feet.
You glance at the clock. You've been in here for almost five hours, it's getting dark outside.
There hasn't been a sign all night.