It all started in a small, dingy bar on the outskirts of town. Friday night, to be exact. I wasn’t there to get wasted or anything… I was just trying to relax a bit after work.
I remember the place being relatively empty. A few college kids and old-timers, but nobody really worth noting. At first, that is. I’ve attempted thinking back and trying to pinpoint anything that felt off when I first entered, but I couldn't think of anything specific. But something was wrong with that place. I knew it. I know it.
Anyhow, about an hour after I’d sat down, this couple walked in. They were a young, good-looking pair. The guy was tall and built, while the woman was striking, wearing what looked like an expensive red skirt. They sat down about four seats away from me and the guy ordered two gin and tonics.
I glanced at them for a few moments, but ultimately went to back to sipping my own beer. I thought it'd be weird to stare. But now that I’m thinking about it… this is where things began to get peculiar. About five minutes after the couple came in, everybody else in the bar cleared out. Even the bartender seemed to disappear after bringing them their drinks.
I remember calling out to him in an attempt to order another drink, but the guy never came back. I just looked over at the couple and made a “What’s his deal?” kind of gesture. The guy didn’t pay me any attention, but the woman simply shrugged and smiled.
It was right after that where things went fully bizarre.
Seeing that the bartender wasn’t around, I decided to get up and head to the washroom. While I was finishing up in there, I started hearing something coming from the bar area. It sounded an argument. A male and female voice locked in a shouting match.
They’re fighting I thought to myself. I suppose that this wouldn’t have been that weird on the surface. Some people are just volatile. However, the scene that was awaiting me outside was far from what I was predicting to see.
As I pushed through the bathroom door, I could see the couple really getting in each other’s faces. The woman seemed to the most aggressive, though. The bartender was also still missing. I was about to intervene when the woman pulled out a fucking pistol. The man put his hands up and stumbled backwards. Before I could even say anything, the woman took two shots, both hitting the man square in the chest.
I was put into a state of incredulous shock. I started inching backwards myself, towards the exit. The woman eventually turned her head to look directly at me. As we locked eyes, I froze. I didn’t know what to expect, you know?
But she just laughed. It wasn’t maniacal, or demonic, or anything like that. It was completely normal. In a different context, it could almost be perceived as friendly.
She threw her gun down and spoke to me:
“Sorry you had to see that, sweetie.”
And then she started walking towards me. The expression on her face wasn’t even malicious, or indicated any kind of psychotic motivation. She just seemed normal, which was probably the scariest part.
“Please, don’t be scared. That had to happen. I won’t hurt you.”
She stopped about five feet away from me and smiled again.
“My name is Angie, by the way. Angie Prescott.”
She then stuck her hand out, presumably for me to shake it. I didn’t take that offer. I turned and bolted out of the place. And now that I’m thinking about it… I remember seeing that the sign on the front door read “closed” when I was running out. It was definitely still supposed to be open at that point, though. Weird, I guess.
I made it to a more crowded street before pulling out my phone and dialing 911. I suppose that the bartender would’ve already done it at that point, but I decided to go for it anyways.
I told the voice on the other line what had happened, as well the address of the bar, and they said that they’d send somebody over there to check it out.
I was still a bit shaken up by this whole thing, so I decided to just call a taxi and head home. About an hour after I’d arrived at my own apartment, I received another call. It was the local police, telling me that I had to come down to the station, in order to help clear a few things up.
When I got there, they sat me down and began the questioning. What they ended up telling me made no fucking sense.
Apparently, there was no body. That would’ve been understandable enough. The woman must have hid it. But there was also no blood. That was harder to believe. I clearly saw some splatter on the ground when she took her shots. In fact, the only reason that they didn’t write it off as some sort of prank was the fact that there was nobody inside the bar. No patrons, no bartender, no janitor, nothing. It almost looked as if they'd inexplicably closed the place early. But all the lights and televisions were still on.
This would’ve been weird enough, but there was still an opportunity to explain it away here. It could’ve been some kind of illicit gang activity. The man who’d been murdered must have been in deep water with some shady people. The bar itself must have been some kind of gang-owned business.
That would’ve been the simple explanation. But that isn’t the case here. It gets a lot weirder.
Apparently, the bartender who was supposed to be working that night was called and questioned in regards to where he was. His response was that his boss had called earlier, saying that his hours had been cut that day, and to leave early. So that’s what he did.
They then called his boss, but he claimed that he’d never even contacted the bartender that day. Two conflicting stories, with no resolution in sight. Even weirder was when they tried to view the security footage for that night. They watched for about twenty minutes before realizing that what they were seeing was just a five minute loop of footage from an earlier week.
Safe to say, nothing was making sense here. Since they had no idea who this woman was or what she even looked like, they had nothing to go on.
But I knew something that they didn’t. The sudden realization washed over me just before they were about to ask me to leave for the night. She’d told me her name.
“Angie Prescott.” I told the cops. “Her name was Angie Prescott. I can’t tell you why she would tell me that, though. It might be fake, but that’s all I have here.”
The cops searched her up, and to my surprise, actually found her. But why would she tell me her real name? They pulled up a picture of her driver’s license and I recognized her instantly. It was a hard face to forget, after all.
Soon after they sent me home, telling me that they’d sort everything out, and thanked me for the help.
I thought that my involvement in this case would've been finished at that point. That was until I got a call at 5 AM. It was the police station again. Apparently, when they went over to her place and started the interrogation, she was adamant in claiming that she’d never even gone out that night. In fact, her boyfriend was still with her. They wanted me to come down again in order to identify if it was the same man that I’d seen.
To my utter dismay… it was. The feeling that I had was inexplicable at the time. I was staring into the eyes of a man that I’d seen murdered just hours ago.
He seemed equally confused by all of this, staring back at me with an expression that I can only describe as a synthesis of disconcertion and disgust.
I tried babbling out some kind of explanation, but the cops simply stared at me like I belonged in the psych ward.
But I could tell that they knew something was wrong here. They definitely realized that the circumstances at the bar were simply too bizarre to write me off as crazy. After a few hours of internal discussion, they just let everybody go. They didn’t even give me the whole “boy who cried wolf” speech.
As I was walking out of the station with the couple, I was expecting something from them. Whether it be a sinister grin, or a threatening wink. But I only got confused stares.
I must be losing my shit was what I was thinking to myself when I got home. I’ve been working too much. I need a break. I need a fucking vacation.
I was already booking a trip to Hawaii when I heard a knock at my door. Ever so cautiously, I got up and looked through my peephole. It was some dude who looked to be in his late twenties. He seemed fidgety, always looking to his sides and whatnot. He even glanced at the ceiling at one point.
Obviously, I was keeping the door closed. After all that, I wasn’t in the mood for any of this shit. I turned my back to the door and started towards my computer again before he called out to me from the hallway.
His voice was shaky and urgent. But it was his words that made me turn around.
“C’mon man, open up. Look, I saw it too. You’re not crazy. I just want to talk.”
I stayed still. The prospect of finding out more was equally intriguing as it was terrifying. But I suppose that the terrifying aspect was just a bit stronger, because I never opened the door.
“Fuck!” I heard him curse through the door. “Look, I’m gonna write my number down and slide it under the door. Please call me, dude. This shit is messed up."
I saw a little slip of paper get pushed through the crack before hearing him walk away.
I’m looking at the number right now, still trying to decide what the hell my next step should be. It's a hard one, trust me.
UPDATE
I think I might have to call him. Last night at around 2 AM, I was having a smoke out on my balcony. I was surveying the emptiness outside before spotting a singular person standing still under a light post on the street opposite to me. They were too far away to make out immediate details, but I managed to do so after a few seconds of squinting. The person was wearing a red skirt.
A red skirt
I instinctively stumbled back into my living room upon realizing this.
I have the guy's number dialed right now. I don’t know whether to call him or the police. Was this even worth calling the police over? Would they even listen to me? Maybe not. But I’m too fucking scared to look out the window again.
I think I have to call him.
---
Credits
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