Meet Crow Fletcher

<Optional bar noises; glasses clattering; heavy discussion>

Well well well, if it isn't our esteemed guest visitor. What a pleasure it is to see you again.

Say...weren't you supposed to be leaving town today? What ever could you be doing here?

{Pause for listener answer}

You wanted to thank me before you left? Well, how noble. I suppose it makes sense why you're here midday instead of at night. I certainly ought to thank you. I don't think anybody has cleared out as much champagne as you have before—even for New Year's Eve.

Did we learn everything we wanted to about this little town of ours? Sink your fangs into the history of this place? Feeling...properly inspired to do some writing?

Most wonderful.

I'll tell you what...

How about I make you one final drink. Something of my creation. You'll enjoy it, I'm sure.

We can migrate into my office in the back. There's something I think you'd be quite interested in seeing. Consider it a little prize for your integrity. Sound fair?

I promise it will be quick. I would never let you miss your bus.

I'll even teach you how to make it. A little treat for later, no? Show off some of the things you've learned to the big wide world.

Here.

<Glass sliding on bartop>

Start with a rocks glass. We'll add one of these giant ice cubes today.

<Carefully placing one big cube into glass>

Three ounces of whiskey. I've always been partial to an Irish blend.

<Pouring sounds>

A half ounce of Grenadine.

<More pouring>

Four dashes of orange bitters...

<Effectively single water drops, if that>

And to finish...a small little spoonful of brown sugar.

<Sugar noise. Maybe use sand?>

Stir it to finish...

Voila. A delicious, heavy cocktail to send you on your way. It's called Immortal's Blood. Thick, heavy, and still oddly sweet...

[Quietly] Just like the real deal.

The owner of the bar is still here. I'm sure he'll survive pouring drinks for an hour or two.

<Footsteps begin moving>

Follow me. I think you'll find my humble office to be to your interest.

<Continue walking a short distance, open a door, and walk inside>

It's quite modest, I must admit. But it's my little spot away from the world.

<Close door>

<Very quiet sound of locking the door>

Floor to ceiling bookshelves! I built them years ago. I will admit that most of the books within them are more informational or biographical in nature. Encyclopedias, scientific analysis, historical documents, autobiographies...I've always had a bit of a draw to learning, and watching as people in this world have learned over time.

Many of these books are decades, if not hundreds of years old. Some of them are from the 1800s. Space exploration has been a particular fascination of mine, as well as botany. This copy of the Avesta is also a prized possession.

It's quite the collection. I've had to travel far and wide to acquire many of them, or work though channels to have them brought here. As far as I'm concerned, this is the safest place on earth they could be.

As a fiction writer, though, I'm sure you have more interest towards those sorts of works. This large leather copy of the Argonautica has always been a favorite of mine. So too has L'Argent by Émile Zola. I share a birthday with Bram Stoker's Dracula.

I suppose that what I'm trying to say is that I've held a...particular admiration for the art of writing. For telling stories. For people's honesty to sink into the pages through ink and passion.

That's why I was so intrigued by a writer deciding to stop in our little town. I simply had to know what sort of a person they were to come all the way out here. Somebody who was so keen to share the interests of written work must certainly be an appealing figure.

And there you were. Preppy and excited to explore the new stage before you.

A warm smile. A gentle attitude. A surface-level facade of interest towards the people you're speaking to. You play the part of a curious writer perfectly.

You knew what you were doing, though. The very thought makes me sick. You managed to twist and manipulate my longest term customers into spilling their secrets by exploiting their feelings and intoxication. Did you think that I wouldn't have noticed? The way you slunk and slithered up to the people who I've cared for over the span of years to tear them down and spoil their demeanors. I thought you'd invoke light conversation. Instead, you went for their fears and insecurities.

Some left those nights quiet and uninterested to converse. Some left in tears. Some drank far more than they should have normally. That was all your doing. I hope you're happy about what you've done.

"Surely", I thought, "the stories they must be producing are incredible, if this level of ferocious detail and emotional devastation are required."

So I looked into your writing background.

I'm certainly appalled by what I found. You are no college student. You are no writer. You are no dreamer. You are certainly not somebody worthy of my respect.

Taking secret recordings of the bar patrons, transcribing their conversations, and putting them onto websites as a series of written scripts for audio dramas is a level of deplorable I could not even begin to comprehend. It is fortunate that your Reddit account uses the same name as your little company card there. Otherwise...I may have never found you.

You've been at this for years. Dozens of these so-called "stories" are just stealing the life and struggles of real people for your gain. I'm sure you've picked these small, isolated towns because you know that nobody would go looking into a travelling writer, hmm?

Most of us don't have the internet out here. Unfortunately for you, that "most" does not mean "all".

{Pause}

Do you know what I hate, more than anything? In my younger years, I would have said a lack of integrity. But now...

I hate when people rock the boat. Change from routine. Get radical about how everyone else operates, just because they can't get a hold of themselves. 

There's nothing wrong with self development, of course. But once you start taking it out on others, and changing their routines...that's where the problems begin to start. 

Rodney was the last person to rock the boat. It's a shame I had to disappear him the way I did. But this place was only built to handle so much noise. He stepped on too many toes, and screamed too many times. His blood was so sour, too. Almost like he was pickled before reaching the grave.

{Pause}

You seem pale. This shouldn't be too much of a surprise, but it always is fun to watch.

The drink I made you was perfectly fine. One of my favorites, actually. The ice cube, on the other hand...

Well, just because pufferfish toxin is hard to source doesn't mean it's impossible to get. It's a good thing it looks almost clear when frozen. Even if it doesn't, the dark colors of the drink mask it well enough anyway.

By this point, you should be mostly paralyzed. Even if you could stumble back to the door, I doubt you could figure out the lock on there. It probably outdates you.

{Pause}

You know, originally, I had planned to just kill you. A bit of a snack, and nothing more. Your blood is probably just as sour as Rodney's with all that rancid absinthe you've added to it, or the rancid motivation to go with it. 

And...

A quick death is simply too merciful for the havoc you've unleashed here by stealing people's life stories. No, you need something more befitting of a leech like yourself.

A leech you were born, and a leech you will stay.

<Footsteps as Crow moves towards listener>

<Crow bites the listener; make sound visceral>

Ahh...great. This will do splendidly.

And now, a few drops of my blood...

{Pause}

Soon, the vampirism will overtake your body. I'm sure that poison will wear off just in time for you to get on the only bus out of here. From there...[Laugh; somewhat evil] Well, who knows what kind of mess you'll cause. If you're going to suck the life out of the patrons of my bar, it seemed fitting to suck it out of you, too. And now...you'll have to do it to your friends, family, and community.

<Losing lucidity> May you never return to this town of Decay. May you never again know the warmth of the sun. May your story of stealing the stories of others end today.

For you shall always now suffer, as you've made hundreds in the past.

<Almost distorted> You have died. May you never know the meaning of living again.

[Evil laugh] A Death in the Afternoon, indeed!

<The listener collapses and loses consciousness>

END.