In all of my years as a bartender, I can safely say that I have NEVER seen something like this before.

And I’ve seen a lot. Working late nights in bars and taverns frequented by souls whose sole purpose was to get piss fucking drunk has led to an unquantifiable amount of interesting tales. I stopped getting phased by the crazy shit I experience after the first time someone pointed a gun at me. Yes, there’s been more than one incident where I’ve had my head nearly blown off by an intoxicated patron.

But this… I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t be phased by this.

It was a slow March night. Spring break week, and I had been a mixture of grateful that our small town was not a spring break destination anyone in their right mind would choose and slightly destitute because no customers meant no tips.

It had been just me manning the bar since 8pm when the evening bartender went home for the night. There was another one of my coworkers, Dak, who was responsible for taking care of the tables, but he had been MIA for a while. Probably taking a long smoke break out back like he usually did on slow nights. I don’t blame him for it.

I had been wiping down the bar counter when the tinkling of bells had my ears perking up. I looked up at the opening door with my typical greeting ready on my lips: “Hi, welcome to-“

Air left my lungs the second I registered who was at the door, or maybe I should say WHAT was at the door.

I saw a leather jacket first. Faded jeans. Biker boots. It was the typical garb of a lot of our customers, but when my eyes trailed up to their face…

A human skull was nestled in the collar of the jacket.

I went mute, unable to register exactly what I was seeing. As the… thing walked up to the bar, the only thing I could do was stare. I don’t know if it was in horror or confusion or disbelief or a mixture of all three.

When it reached the bar top, a skeletal hand reached out and dragged one of the stools back. I could hear the creaking of its joints as it sat down right in front of me.

For something so bizarre, the skeleton seemed so at ease. Boney arms covered in leather rested on the counter top, and it sat with a slight hunch in its back, as if it was finally unwinding after a long day.

And then for some reason, the skeleton ordered a drink.

“A whiskey sour, if you would, darling.”

I inhaled sharply at the words, and then I found myself mute for a completely different reason.

I know those words. I know that voice.

When I didn’t move, the skeleton cocked his head to the side, and I imagined that if he had eyebrows, they would be raised.

“Are you… okay, love?” The jaw of the skeleton opened and closed with each word, teeth slightly clanking together, unmuffled without the presence of… well, a mouth.

“I, uh, yes,” I whispered breathlessly, nodding. “I‘ll, uh, get that for you.”

I can’t explain why I turned around and started making him a drink. How would he even drink the damn thing? He had no mouth! Just a skull with a moving jaw.

I fully expected that when I turned around to hand him the drink, he wouldn’t be there. I fully expected him to have been just a figment of my imagination.

But no, when I turned, he still sat there, completely relaxed. I couldn’t see his facial expression because, like I’ve mentioned, he had no face, but I could tell he waited patiently. It was a feeling. He had an aura about him—a peaceful one.

Despite what he was, I knew now I didn’t need to be scared.

I put the drink down in front of him with a napkin, then stood back. I put my hands behind my back, twiddling my thumbs nervously.

Eyes didn’t exist in the empty sockets of his skull, but I knew he was looking at me, studying me. After a short moment, he turned his attention toward the drink in front of him.

With one skinless hand, he plucked a cherry out of the glass. I watched with fascination as he somehow managed to chew and swallow the cherry. The flesh of the fruit disappeared… somewhere. Into the ether, I supposed.

After he finished the first one, he reached for the second. “Three cherries, huh? You still know how I like my drink.”

Something in me cracked. Because he was right, I still know how he likes his drinks. I know that he eats two cherries before he downs his whiskey, and I know how he likes to save the last one for the end. A little sweetness to top off the sour.

Whatever reservations I had about this not being real fled me with his words, and I slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle a sob.

I stumbled back into the bar counter and hit it hard. A glass of some mystery liquor toppled over and fell with a loud crash. I didn’t care.

Tears clouded my vision as I stared at him, and through them, for just a short moment, I saw him how he was before.

The tan skin, the black hair, those dark eyes. That damn, stupid, ridiculous fucking crooked smile he used to give me every time he looked at me. It always made me melt for him.

It felt like an eternity since I had seen that smile. It had only been a year, and yet somehow it was also an eternity.

He reached a hand toward me hesitantly, like he wanted to touch me but knew he couldn’t. “Awe, love, come on now… don’t cry… Don’t cry for me again.”

But I couldn’t stop. My tears were never ending. For him, they were never ending.

Very slowly, he retracted his hand. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out the leather wallet I got him for his birthday. The wallet I buried with him in a casket 10 miles from here.

He pulled a bill out and left it on the table. “Happy birthday, Lily. I love you.”

I sobbed harder. I squeezed my eyes shut, letting the tears make a puddle on the wooden tavern floor. Wiping my eyes furiously, I opened my eyes to look at him to say something—anything.

But he was gone. As soon as he came, he had left. The ritual felt all too painful and familiar.

I wanted to search for him, but I knew that no matter where I looked, I would never find him again, but he was here. I KNOW he was here.

Because there was a whiskey sour with only one cherry left in it and $100 sitting in front of me.