Fairie March

Jerry slapped the bar, the sound sharp and loud in the silence. Hank rolled his eyes as he walked over reflexively picking up the near empty bottle of whiskey. His voice was a harsh contrast against the light gurgle of the liquor as he poured out another double.

“Damn Jerry, don’t you think five is enough? You said you had an interview tomorrow. You get too wasted you won’t go. You know what Mary will do…”

“Oh, the hell with that woman! I’m my own goddamn man son! I don’t need you or her lecturing me about my wicked ways.”

The bartender pushed the glass with his finger. “Jeez Jerry I was only kidding. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what you do as long as you pay in cash.”

Jerry ran the tip of his finger gently around the rim of the glass. The deep amber color quietly beckoning to his desire. “Some men have a terrible thirst that can never be quenched.” He paused, the glass poised. The alcohol caressed his lips, burning the chapped surface. He smiled at the sensation allowing the whiskey to run into his mouth. His tongue became submerged and he tasted the bitter char of the barrel, a note of tar and citrus; the familiar finish of an uncomfortable hot sweetness. He held it there, eyes closed. Finally he swallowed while exhaling through his nose. It spiraled down his throat, the heat of the alcohol trailing just behind. For a brief moment he let the whiskey burn away his horrible day. Another wasted afternoon searching for a job. Hoping to find some piss poor employment to stop his wife from yelling at him another night. The liquor seared away the words he’d heard every day for the past three weeks. “You don’t have the experience we’re looking for”. “You are way too overqualified for this position”. “We’ve got your information. If something comes along we think you fit we’ll give you a call”. His cell phone never rang. Mary never had messages waiting for him. Every night he expected to find her packed and gone when he got home. Every night she was there to scream and berate him for his failures.

He heard the cheap bell over the front door ring and a sudden harsh wind blew around him, chilling the wetness that had formed around his eyes. “Christ that’s cold!” He turned from the bar. “Get inside and close that goddamn…what the hell?” The sudden change in his voice made the few remaining patrons turn their heads in curiosity. Hank put down the glass he was cleaning and leaned against the bar.

Nine figures made their way into the dimly lit room before the door closed, ringing one last time and shutting out the frigid weather. No one spoke as eight quietly moved about the bar, spreading out to fill different areas of the room. Jerry barely noticed any of them. He was staring at the ninth. The one that stood still, staring back.
“What the hell are you supposed to be? Halloween ain’t for another eight months pal.” He cocked his head towards Hank. “There a circus in town I hadn’t heard about?”
The stranger stood only four feet in height. What he lacked in length was easily made up for by his width. He looked solid, the muscles in his exposed arms visibly defined in the muted light. A large, heavy pack clung tight to his back.
Hank slid down the bar for a closer look. “What the hell is with that outfit? What is that…armor?” He looked around at the other strangers. “What the hell are you guys doing running around the city in that stuff when it’s six below?”
Jerry began to feel uncomfortable. Though hidden in shadow by a heavy ornate helm, he could feel the eyes examining him, judging him. He suddenly felt like the goat from Jurassic Park. Not knowing what else to do and wanting to put on a brave face he waved the stranger over. “Well you may as well have a drink pal.” He slapped the bar causing Hank to jump. “How about a beer for the little fellow?”

The sound of jingling made him turn back. The stranger was slowly walking towards them, the ringlets of his armor sounding like coins clinking together. He lifted his hands to either side of his helmet and pulled it up over his head. A monstrous wiry black beard covered a face that could have been carved from stone it was so rough in appearance. It looked ancient, like a mountainside that had been ravaged by centuries of wind and rain. His eyes had no humor in them. The blackness holding no mirth or life. Dark locks of hair fell about his broad shoulders, fine streaks of grey and white winding their ways throughout.

The stranger paused in front of Jerry. He looked up; his head cocked to one side and spoke. The sound surprised Jerry. He half expected a booming baritone to thunder in his ears. Instead, the softest of whispers flirted in the quiet. Jerry leaned down, his arm bracing the edge of the bar for support.

“Sorry pal but you’re gonna have to speak up.”

He strained to hear the words, closing his eyes to help focus. He pictured two giant stones shifting against each other, the sound deep and ancient. He suddenly smelled the musty odor of soil and thick roots buried deep in the earth. A feeling of loneliness and despair came over him. He suddenly longed to hold Mary in his arms, to tell her he’d do whatever was necessary to make things right.

The stranger spoke once more, his voice never rising. He watched Jerry’s face, studied his eyes. Saw the pain and ache there but no understanding; shook his head and sighed in resignation. He lifted his arm to reach behind. His hand grasped the handle of the war hammer strapped to the side of the pack. He casually stepped back as he swung it over his shoulder and into Jerry’s face. The cold heavy stone crushed his forehead and cheekbone upon impact. It took Hank and the patrons a second to realize what they were witnessing. By then it was too late. The remaining dwarves had silently moved in close while everyone had been mesmerized by the scene at the bar. Using hammers and axes, they made quick slaughter of the humans. Hank spun to grab for the shotgun underneath the bar. A dwarf had snuck up behind him and now blocked his path.

“Shit…” The axe caught him in the neck and left collarbone where it bit deep. He instinctively stumbled backwards, the axe tearing out of the wound. He gasped from the pain and the sight of his blood spattering onto the surrounding bottles. His back slammed into the bar. He saw Jerry out of the corner of his eye, his body jerking and convulsing still seated. The next blow buried itself into his stomach. The dwarf, faceless behind his helm, pulled downwards eviscerating him. Hank slumped to the floor, his feet sliding from under him as they slipped in his gore. He watched as the dwarf backed away and moved out from behind the bar. Darkness began to encircle his vision. He couldn’t think clearly. He heard heavy footsteps and the front door ring. He tried to stand but his feet wouldn’t work. Cold air enveloped him and his stomach felt like it was on fire. His head drooped and rolled to one side. He faintly heard the bell ring again and then there was utter silence. His throat burned and when he choked his mouth filled with a salty metallic taste. He felt liquid run down his chin and neck. It felt warm against the cold air. His eyes clouded over and he stopped whimpering as death drifted over him.