Trick Or Treat

Written by:  Ryan Holmes

Ken Green stood next in line to enter All Howl’s Eve, the newest exclusive club in Manhattan.  Only open through October, he failed to get in the last three weeks.  Not tonight, he thought, as a red light above the bouncer lit up.  He found a large room inside with tables and chairs surrounding a central dance floor, all in front of a bar encompassing the far wall.  The air was lit for privacy and smelled of smoke.  Many seats were occupied by the rich and available.  Ken noted the ratio was in his favor.

A woman with long, raven hair filling out a translucent dress stood up to greet him.  “I’m Eve,” she said, “Been here before?”

“I wish, love,” replied Ken, giving the woman a thorough inspection.

She returned a coy smile, producing a large book, and calligraphy pen.  Pricking Ken’s finger with the pen, she said, “Sign the register, sweaty,” handing over the pen.

“Hey, that hurt, lady.”

“It’s all part of the show, love,” she replied with a smirk.  When Ken finished signing, she waved to the bar, “Drinks are on the house.”

Ken took a seat noticing a man at the bar holding an empty shot glass, unmoving and unresponsive.  The bartender came over saying, “Don’t mind him.  He’s been like that for a while now.”  The bartender pulled down two bottles from the top shelf, one dark and dusty with a seductive devil girl label called Trick; the other bright and clean with a fat little cherub label called Treat.  He placed the two bottles on the bar with a thump.

Ken started as the unresponsive man jerked, falling to the floor, “You okay, pal?” he asked.

The bartender asked, “What’ll it be, son: Trick or Treat?”

Before Ken could answer, his neighbor yelled, “Don’t drink the Trick!  Drink the Treat!”

Then a sharp dressed man wrapped up the other saying, “Sorry, mate, ol’ Charlie here can’t hold his liquor.”  Pulling Charlie away he said, “Enjoy your evening.”

Something gripped Ken’s leg, turning he found a petite, little blonde snuggling up to him, “Hello, stranger.  You got a little devil in ya?”

“Make it a Trick!” Ken told the bartender.

The bartender poured the drink into a shot glass.  Black liquid emitted a sickly vapor that spread across the bar like dry ice.  “The first rule of Trick shots is you don’t talk about Trick shots,” he told Ken, who chuckled at the reference draining the shot in one swig.

Slamming the glass down, he noticed a purple light growing from underneath.  The light spread across the room transforming it into something out of the nineteenth century.  The bartender’s clothes, the wall coverings, even the bar itself was altered.

Before Ken could comment, a scream forced him to turn around.  There he saw Charlie running for the door.  With unnerving speed and grace, Eve stepped up slicing off his head with a silver sword.

From behind him, the bartender said, “He broke the first rule.”

Then Eve pointed her sword at Ken, “You have three choices, boy,” she spat.  Thrusting the sword to the right, she said, “Join the Pack,” her voice full of discontent.  She swung the sword to the left with great pride, “Join the Coven.”  Then, with a hammer stroke, pointed the sword at the bartender, “Or side with Adam,” fury burning in her eyes.

Around the room, patrons stood facing one another.  On the right, clothes ripped and tore, bodies growing into massive, lupine forms with gnashing maws.  On the left, feline features with extended fangs and pale skin drew silver swords.  On either side, closest to the bar, a few patrons scrambled over the bar top pulling wooden weapons from beneath.

Ken looked at Adam, who said, “The second rule of Trick shots is win or lose, your choice is final.”

“How do I win?”

“Survive.”

“Make your choice, boy, or I’ll make it for you,” said Eve, sweeping her sword in the arc that took Charlie’s head.

Ken broke his barstool legs into sharp staves, signaling his choice, and the fight ensued.  To his relief, the werewolves attacked the vampires, defending the humans behind the bar, giving him a moment of safety.

“Welcome to the fight, son,” called Adam, killing a vampire with an arrow from a short bow.

“What’s going on?” he asked, plunging a stake into the blonde that hit on him.  Her talons cut gashes into his neck.

“The Coven is Eve’s curse on our seed,” yelled Adam, firing faster than natural.  “She’s hated me and our offspring since I blamed her for the fruit.  We can’t kill each other, so she seduced our children to do it for her.  The wolves are mine, a necessary evil to protect me and humanity.”

Ken struggled as wolves and vampires tore one another apart.  He watched a young woman dragged into the ranks clawing and screaming.  “How do we end this?” he yelled.

“Only a Treat can set you free,” answered Adam, “I poured the last one in eighteen twenty.  Why else would I be dressed like this?”

Ken was too distracted by the fight to do the math.  Fatigued from loss of blood, he noticed his gore soaked stake now felt heavy and slow.  A large vampire attacked from his flank.  Ken struck but missed, losing his hand in the process.  Holding his severed wrist, he watched in shock as a silver flash sliced toward him.  Before the blow struck, a blinding purple light filled the room.

When the light cleared, he was sitting at the bar gripping his empty shot glass.  Just a hallucination, he thought, until he heard the bartender ask, “What’ll it be, son: Trick or Treat?”  Turning back to the bar, he heard the answer.

“Make it a Trick,” replied another man at the bar.

Watching the man slam the empty shot glass on the bar and a purple light begin to spread, Ken said,. “Oh, hell.”