Some places just stick in your mind. Those places become lingering memories and faded impressions. Dorine pressed herself against old boards on a fence. “It was here,” she thought to herself. It seemed as if it would suddenly reappear. Weathered brick and smoggy glass - shadows that seemed to move. The Tavern. Up in smoke and fiery vengeance. It had burned down in 1984, the result of a disgruntled patron.
The Tavern was clear in her mind. She didn’t have to close her eyes to see it, smell it. One blazing summer afternoon she had found herself drifting aimlessly down sad, broken sidewalks in the town. Fat, lazy flies buzzed around some animal excrement on the sidewalk, yet it was honeysuckle that filled the air. It was matted and criss crossed on a nearby fence. It hovered beside and above her - reaching. Broken beer bottles littered patches of sparse grass, sparkling like downed stars. When she went through a sagging doorway into the ancient bar, no one noticed her. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Inside, it smelled of tobacco smoke and dogs.
She ordered a beer and sat down in a nearby booth. The wooden seating was covered with initials, carved over countless years of drunken despair. The clatter of pool balls from a back room was the only sound in a heavy silence that felt like gloom. Then, suddenly, a juke box blared to life, startling Dorine. She jerked so violently, that she inhaled a swallow of beer. Coughing and sputtering, she tried to be inconspicuous. Instead, an elderly man saw her dilemma, came over and offered her a drink of gin. “It’ll run that cough rightout of you,” he announced.
She gingerly took the glass and chugged a fair amount, which stopped her cough, but blurred her mind. “Thanks,” she sputtered.
“Works ever time!” he exclaimed.
Just then, angry words began to rise from the back of the bar. She felt tension mount. “Chicken fight!” yelled someone drunkenly. Dorine stood up to watch the brawl.
Then, a tiny wisp of a woman with black hair and fiery eyes stalked out from behind the bar. A half smoked cigarette dangled from her lips. She stomped over to a huge hulk of a man, who had his fists raised in anticipation. “Gimme that pool stick,” she demanded. The man looked like he was about to explode any minute. The veins in his head throbbed visibly and his eyes narrowed in challenge. Everyone grew silent and backed away. The little bartender continued to glare up at him, unswayed by his temper. Then, miraculously, he sighed and handed her his pool stick. Satisfied that he knew who was boss, she handed the stick back to him. And things went on as usual. For a while.
Dorine felt the air change around her. It was fresh and clean, like wind over the sea. A woman sat down opposite her in the booth. Her eyes were deep blue and full of dreams. Dorine liked her right away. “Do you think this place is haunted?” the woman asked. Dorine shook her head, because she was a cynical woman. “Sometimes I feel like someone’s behind me. I can feel their breath on my shoulder, but no one is there,” the stranger continued.
“Probably a summer breeze.” Dorine speculated.
“Maybe, but it sure smells like beer breath,” said the woman as she slid out of the booth and headed to the bar.
Fading sunlight threw bands of gold across the room, reminding Dorine that night was falling. She drank the last dregs of beer and stood up to leave. A shudder passed through her as she headed towards the door. Then, she turned suddenly as she felt warm, stale breath upon the back of her neck.
