Modern Merlin

by Jason Paul Rice

  The foam rose perfectly to the top, threatening to spill over yet ultimately sitting still like a good dog. Mike rubbed his index finger on his nose and dipped it into the foam. He watched the fluffy white froth disintegrate, then chugged about half of the warm beer. He set the cup down and looked around the bar.

  It was still early. The bar was empty. Other than his table and some regular degenerates at the bar, the place was deserted. Nobody was even playing foosball, which was rare for this bar. Cigarette smoke hung in the air and the jukebox played Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen in the background.

  Kyle strolled through the front door and walked over to their table.

  “So, what? You didn’t crumble, did you?” Mike asked.

  Kyle chuckled as he picked the pitcher up and chugged the last quarter of it. The meathead burped, and said, “I ain’t no bitch. I told ‘em we went in them woods with him and he musta run away. They didn’t even try to press me on that.”

  Mike took another drink of the metallic tasting House Draft. He was convinced they took all the old beer left over at the end of the night and put it into a special keg, and called it House Draft. It was never cold, even straight out of the tap.

  Mike stood up, pointing and talking with his hands. “They tried to stick me with a bunch a questions about Gary till I turned it around and told those pigs they need to worry about finding out who killt my mom and stop asking me questions ‘bout what I’m doing.”

  Despite the blatant lie, Mike managed to sound tough in front of the guys. He had been extremely nervous during the routine questioning and stuttered through most of his answers.

  With a strong right hand, he grabbed the empty pitcher from the table and walked up to the bar. He slammed it on the stained counter and made eye contact with the fifty-five-year-old bartender. The thick woman slowly waddled over like it was a major inconvenience, and said in a sour tone, “Nother House?”

  Mike smiled and nodded.

  As she grabbed the pitcher, the bloody scab on the back of her hand stood out to Mike. She tilted the clear plastic pitcher at a forty-five-degree angle, allowing the foam run off and down the silver drain pan below, then steadily raised the pitcher as it filled until it stood straight and tall and full of suds.

  She put it on the bar and pushed it as far toward him as her short arms allowed. The tide of yellow lager moved back and forth after she stopped and foam jumped up over the edge. Mike held out a wrinkled five-dollar bill.

  Disgust spread over the bartender’s pale face as she snatched the bill from Mike. She turned around and punched the number pad on the register until the tray flung open with a ring. She took two bills out, turned around and threw them at Mike.

  Mike loved $3 Pitcher Night. He scooped up the two dollars and replaced them with two quarters.

  “Cheap motherfucker.” The bartender mumbled under her breath as Mike grabbed the pitcher and returned to the table.

  Mike and his friends downed pitcher after pitcher, and mixed in some shots here and there. The bar began to fill up, and Mike looked through a haze of cigarette smoke at an attractive brunette at the bar. Her perfect makeup featured purple lipstick, and her designer clothes along with the golden barrettes in her long, black hair gave her a classy look. Much too classy for this bar.

  Chapter 8

  Emily

  EMILY PUT HER THIN lacy sleeve over her nose to avoid the second-hand smoke. She remembered coming to this dive when she was underage. Right now, she felt relaxed and refreshed from a nice nap. She rested her elbow on the dirty bar and tried to get the older bartender’s attention, but the woman was at the other end.

  Emily was clearly overdressed in a deep purple cami and see-through, long-sleeved mesh overlay embroidered with floral patterns on the belly and flared sleeves. The scalloped hem bled into her black shorts, and the outfit was tied together with a gaudy golden belt just above her wide hips that accentuated her ample breasts.

  She thought about the offer that Tucker McSeamus had presented her earlier today. Fifty thousand dollars to dig up a broken piece of an amulet sounded like music to her ears. That was until he had told her where the excavation would be taking place. She didn’t want to go into Houlihan’s Circle.

  Emily wracked her brain trying to figure out if she had any friends that would help her. She quickly came to the harsh realization that she had abandoned her lifelong friends over the past few years while she had concentrated on the company. Emily looked down the bar at the sloth-like bartender and debated reaching into the cooler and grabbing an energy drink.

  A heavy scent of cheap hairspray cloyed her nostrils as the bartender worked her way down the bar. Emily eavesdropped as the female patron two seats down shouted, “Hey, Karen. How are you tonight?”

  The flushed-faced bartender palmed some sweat off her forehead and wiped it on the hip of her tan shorts. “I’m good. Busy. How’re the kids?”

  The woman leaned up on her barstool and said, “They’re okay. Hey, I heard Mike and Kyle was with Gary last night right before he got killed. Is it so?”

  The bartender leaned over the bar and lowered her voice but Emily could still hear her. “Sounds like it. They were picked up by the cops earlier. I heard them talkin’ about it. They don’t seem too spooked about it, though.”

  The woman replied, “Poor Gary. I went to school with his mum. Constance didn’t deserve this right now, with the divorce and all. I say they all should have their heads checked for going into that haunted, godforsaken place.”

  An alarm went off in Emily’s head. These guys weren’t scared to go into the Circle. She fanned away some smoke that smelled like cloves and ordered her beverage, then drank it standing up by the corner of the bar as she plotted what she wanted to say.

  Emily still didn’t understand why the tarot card reader had been standing over her when she had woken up from her nap. A calm ran through her veins that even the energy drink couldn’t excite. All the inner hysteria from earlier had vanished into the good night.

  She heard shouts from the table in the corner of the room. “I’ll eat it for five bucks. Shit, I’ll do just about anything for five bucks.”

  A slow smile crept across her lips as she looked back for the bartender. She ordered another energy drink and two pitchers of Budweiser. She slid the handles of the clear pitchers together and grabbed them off the bar. The unexpected weight caused her to almost drop the pitchers, but just a little spilled over the sides.

  She walked over the guy’s table and set the pitchers down. She smiled at the one name Kyle, and then at Mike. “You boys thirsty?”

  The two young men eagerly nodded their heads, and their other friends went to grab the pitchers from her hand.

  But Emily said in a shrill voice, “Sorry, this is just for these two. Can we talk privately?”

  Mike and Kyle looked at each other and agreed before sending their friends away. Mike picked up one of the pitchers and poured three beers. He slid one over to Kyle and placed another in front of Emily before blowing the foam off the top of his beer onto the ground.

  An awkward silence ensued until Emily abruptly said, “My name is Emily.” She extended her right hand and felt the powerful grips of both men. “Do you have names?”

  They both announced their names, and Emily decided to get to the point. “I hear you guys went into Houlihan’s Circle last night. I think that’s pretty badass.”

  Kyle puffed out his chest and shrugged his shoulders. “No big deal. I don’t know what everyone is scared about.”

  She took a drink out of the big Red Bull can and said, “You two sound perfect to help me make some easy money. That is unless you guys were lying about being scared.”

  Kyle said, “The hell we are. At least I ain’t.”

  Emily turned to Mike and asked, “What say you?”

  The phrase sent a chill up Mike’s back. “What are you gettin’ at?”

  She smiled gently and moved closer to the table. “I have an opportunity t
o dig something up and get paid a handsome reward for it. I am looking for a few boys to help me with the effort. I am willing to split the entire amount with you guys.”

  Kyle asked, “And what do we gotta do?”

  Emily casually said, “Just dig up an old artifact from under the ground. It shouldn’t be more than three feet below the earth. I just need two strong men to help. My digging skills are lacking and I need to handle something else while you two dig it up.”

  Mike asked, “How much?”

  Emily paused for dramatic effect as she looked around the bar and held her head near the middle of the table. Mike and Kyle instinctually leaned closer.

  “Five thousand dollars. Half of the total amount.”

  Emily knew she had them by the instant gleam on both of their faces. She tried not to smile as Mike and Kyle whispered in each other’s ears. They turned to Emily.

  Mike asked, “What’s the catch?”

  Emily took another sip of the energy drink. “No catch. For real. If you guys aren’t afraid of anything. The area is in the middle of Houlihan’s Circle.” She tried to casually drop in the last line, but both young men’s faces turned to stone.

  The excited gleam that had graced their faces only moments before had been scrubbed away by those last two words.

  “I thought you two weren’t scared. I guess I can find someone else.” Emily pushed her chair out, stood up and grabbed her drink, hoping to be stopped.

  Kyle bit. “Now wait a second. We can do it but we’re going to need more money.”

  Emily sat back down and said, “Nope. I’ll just find someone else to do it. Five grand to dig a hole is a pretty good job.”

  Mike said, “Six grand or you can grab a shovel. You ain’t gonna to find anyone to go in there for less.”

  Emily wanted to fight him, but she knew he was right. A small part of her was confident that these guys would still do the job for five grand but she didn’t want to risk it. She also felt like giving them more would make them feel like they had won the negotiations and forty-four thousand dollars to be the ringleader of this circus was sufficient.

  Emily held out an open hand in the middle of the table. “You drive a hard bargain, but I can do that. I still don’t have the exact directions, but I will give them to you tomorrow. The item I need can be held in the palm of your hand so the directions are going to be exact and need to be followed to a T.”

  As she panned back and forth between Mike and Kyle, she noticed dazed looks on both men’s faces and wondered if she had the right people for the job. Her mind began to return to normal, until she peeked over her left shoulder.

  Tucker McSeamus stood with his elbow leaning on a high chair in the middle of the bar. The large man shifted around, trying to get comfortable in his out-of-style robe and leather sandals.

  Emily wondered why nobody was staring at him or if they could even see him.

  Normally she’d be worried and panicked, but even after two energy drinks, her steady hand and mind were working just fine. She turned back to Mike and Kyle and started to go over more of the details.

  Chapter 9

  The Broken Amulet

  Claude Escott

  Originally published in the Pumpkin Pamphlet of 1836

  THE BROKEN AMULET had been redone in several mediums over the years. From books to television shows and even full-length movies based off the original short story by Claude Escott, the overall message remained the same. That doesn’t include the countless number of speculative works based off the general theme of the Claude Escott version.

  The story centered around a man whose wife had just been murdered. Hell bent on avenging the honor of his wife, the man named George Houlihan was desperate. He took to the drink, absinthe was his preference, and the townspeople deemed him as an insane muttonhead.

  George continued down this dark staircase of life, first taking on an ornery attitude before becoming feral. He only thought about getting revenge for his wife. Nothing else. He sat on his porch, debating suicide to join his bride in the afterlife.

  Enter a dark figure, sometimes described as a tall, ruthless human, other times compared to a red lizard-like demon with long horns. One thing remained constant. This character represented the devil.

  The devil persuaded George to make a deal. He agreed to give the scorned husband the names of all the people involved in his wife’s murder. George greedily jumped at the offer, barely listening to the details.

  The devil made George an immortal warlock who would carry out his demonic bidding over the years for the chance at a reunion with his wife.

  The odd pair dug up the remains of George’s wife. The devil grabbed a golden, heart-shaped amulet hanging from a necklace. He held the object above his head and seven strikes of lightning broke the charm in half.

  Leaving one half still connected to the necklace, the devil took the second half and dug a hole near her grave and buried the broken half of the amulet.

  If George could convince someone to dig up the broken piece and he matched it with his wife’s, she would come back to life. The immortal wasn’t permitted to dig it up himself and it had to occur at night. Those were the conditions.

  However, that part never happened in most of the versions that stuck to the original. The production normally ended when the two shook hands, causing a thunder strike. Once dismissed as just a scary story, the theory behind the tales was starting to build momentum.

  Chapter 10

  MIKE FINISHED THROWING up to start the day and stumbled into his kitchen. The strong scent of vanilla caught his attention. He looked for a bag of chocolate chip cookies until he panned to the small table with two mismatched chairs.

  Alayna sat in one of the chairs with her legs crossed, wearing her purple dress. “Rise and shine. And would it kill you to clean up this dump?”

  Mike tried to shake the haze away. “I guess I’m seeing shit again.”

  She yawned. “You still think I’m fake? You want me to punch you again?”

  Mike found the blue bag of cookies and a Mountain Dew that hadn’t even been opened yet. What a breakfast! He performed his normal routine of saturating the cookie and trying to choke it down. The carbonation of the mountain dew forced him to shoot the foamy liquid out of his nose. He spat out the chewed-up cookie as he went into a coughing fit.

  Alayna let out a long cackle and almost fell out of the chair. She slowed down to catch her breath, and then started patting her knee as she lost it again.

  Mike asked, “This is funny to you?”

  She finally calmed down, face still red and tears streaming down her cheeks. “Hilarious actually. Therefore, I am offering you help to get away from this life.”

  Mike jammed another cookie in his mouth and chewed it up. He tapped the bottom of the Mountain Dew on the counter to knock out the carbonation before taking a drink, then forced down two and a half cookies and wiped his sloppy mouth with a bare forearm.

  “Still here, huh?” He set his mind to find his bag of weed.

  “I know what you’re looking for.” Alayna said the sentence like it was a song lyric.

  “Oh, really. What am I looking for?”

  She held up a perfectly rolled joint in her left hand. “You’re looking for your herbal remedy, silly.”

  Mike stomped over and tried to snatch the joint as Alayna moved her hand. He got so frustrated, he grabbed her forearm with one hand and the spliff with the other.

  She giggled. “I still can’t believe you have strong wizard blood in you. Are you ready to start your training?”

  Mike looked around for a lighter.

  Alayna said, “Ahem.” She cleared her throat. “Ahem.”

  Mike glanced over, and she was holding a green Bic lighter in her left hand. He shook his head, took two steps and stopped. “Throw it.”

  The corners of her purple lips curled up. “You’re learning. That’s good. I can teach you a great deal more. We could fill that empty head with so much knowledg
e. So much.”

  Mike threw the lighter back to her and hit the joint three times. He spoke as smoke poured from his mouth and nose. “Why would I want to go back to school?”

  She reached inside the neckline of her dress and tucked the lighter into her bra. “I’ll make it fun. It will be as easy as smoking a number.”

  Mike exhaled. “A number?”

  She jumped down from the chair and brushed off her behind. “It’s another name for a joint or spliff. Think about all the wonderful knowledge you’ll gain.”

  Mike moved his fingers away from the burning cherry. “Only thing I gotta know is that I can make six grand for digging a little hole.”

  “Three grand, fool.”

  “What?”

  Alayna held up her open hands. “Five fingers and a thumb make six. You and Kyle are being paid six thousand. Total. That’s this many.” She shook her open hand, wiggling her fingers and thumb. “You both can’t have all six. Now you see?”

  Mike chuckled. “Whatever. Then I’m making...I’m making...I’m making half that.”

  “Three grand.”

  Mike extinguished the dying roach with the residual water in the sink spigot. He flicked the remains into the drain and whirled around to leave.

  Alayna stood in his way. “What do you say now?”

  “I say close the door on your way out. I don’t want no animals getting in.”

  He walked outside and grabbed the old bicycle leaning against his motel-style apartment facade. The rusted Huffy had seen better days. Mike swung his leg over the worn-out seat, lined up the pedals and placed his right foot on one.

  The bike began moving, and he stood up to build some speed. The harsh sound of snapping metal took Mike by surprise, and he toppled to the ground, in pain.

  That cackling laugh filled the early morning air. Mike rubbed his elbow as Alayna approached him.

  She stopped giggling and composed herself. “Come on, Mike. Look at yourself. Look at your life. Why are you fighting me?”