Astaroth
[*screaming into the void intensifies*]
Original poster
STAFF MEMBER
DONATING MEMBER
FOLKLORE MEMBER
- Invitation Status
- Not accepting invites at this time
- Posting Speed
- Speed of Light
- Slow As Molasses
- Online Availability
- It varies a lot depending on my schedule, unfortunately.
- Writing Levels
- Advanced
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- Psychological horror
Body horror
Supernatural
Giallo
Splatterpunk
Dark fantasy
Historical
Low fantasy
Magipunk
Weird West
Noir
Thriller
Gothic horror
Southern Gothic
Gaslamp fantasy
Cyberpunk
Space saga
Clockpunk
Space Western
Space opera
Paranormal
Modern fantasy
Dieselpunk
Post-Apocalyptic
Crime drama
Medieval fantasy
Welcome to Port MIRROR
The Boogie Bar was the newest bar in Port Mirror—technically speaking, anyway; a year ago, the place had been called Stucky's and had been a local favorite for the better part of thirty years. Then Stucky had died, the building had come up for rent, and an out-of-towner had moved in before anyone could say boo about it.
Aggie Graves had yet to win over most of the old crowd. The entire vibe of the place had been turned on its head. Gone were the rough wood walls and floors, replaced with shiny new tiles and printed carpet. Twinkle lights on the newly mirrored ceiling, crushed velvet curtains, neon bar lights, and the life-sized horse lamp wearing a taffeta dress in the entranceway were alienating for the blue collar types, biker gangs, and sailors that had come in for the pool tables and jukebox full of country and Elvis. Half the booths had been removed to make room for the dance floor and state-of-the-art sound system.
And then the man himself was, well, a bit strange. He talked like Daniel Day-Lewis but insisted he was born and raised in "the South". When pressed on where, he sometimes answered "Georgia" and other times "Mississippi". He always wore brightly-printed Hawaiian shirts, even in winter, with a pair of rose-tinted aviators indoors.
But he made the best drinks in town, and if you were in the know, you knew why the crowd who frequented the bar on Saturday nights kept coming back.
It was currently, however, Monday morning and the Boogie Bar was largely deserted. A few of the braver and least sober locals were nursing drinks or smoking on their high purple-cushioned bar stools and attempting to look comfortable when they heard the scream.
One of the patrons leapt up from the bar, hand on the gun at his waist. There was a star-shaped badge pinned to the front of his uniform, along with a name: MCCLANE.
"Shit," cursed Sheriff McClane. He dropped his cigarette in the crystal ashtray on the bar-top and headed for the door.
Outside, he found a young blond woman in a swimsuit, dripping sea water and wailing. She ran to him and clutched at his shirt.
"It's awful," she cried. "She's dead!"
"Who's dead?" demanded the Sheriff. "Where?"
"The girl," sobbed the young woman. "The girl on Ruby Beach!"
By noon, the entire town was talking about it. Tammy Summers was dead.
Her body was found on Ruby Beach, naked and bloody, laying among the rocks as the tide lapped at the shore. Some people were saying it was an accident, but Tammy was such a good swimmer; other people were insinuating something far worse. Most were in shock. Tammy was only twenty-two. Everyone had loved her.
It was the start of a strange summer...
@Diana @Ocha @CarnelianUndead @Turtle of Doom @Dusk @fawnsable @The Mood is Write