A New Meaning to Drink Myself to Death

“You’re on your way… right?” My friend Finn spoke from the other line, not even bothering with pleasantries.

“I’m up and I’ll be out the door in no time at all.” I responded, walking into the small bathroom, in my apartment, stuck right in the middle of nowhere, Maine.

“I already told everyone you’re coming, so you can’t bail now. I don’t care how ‘busy’ you are with work.”

“I’ll be there, I’m really looking forward to it.” I replied honestly.

“Glad to hear that, man, see you later.” Finn hung up and I jumped into a shower, letting the cold water wake me up.

Over a half year ago, my company relocated me to oversee the opening of a new location. It was supposed to be for six months, but there I was eight months and counting later. Stuck in a boring town, in a small apartment, in the middle of the woods with nothing around me but forest.

Not even halfway into my five-hour drive and I was sitting bumper to bumper. Slowly crawling a mile in just over an hour, I decided to get off the next exit and grab some lunch to kill some time. Hopefully, the traffic would let up.

I drove through what looked like a ghost town for twenty minutes until I saw the shack stuck in the corner of a dirt road. The small red building looked like an old barn, there was an old sign hanging from it that read “The Canteen.” I sent Finn a text letting him know I was held up in traffic.

The inside of the bar was normal, what you’d expect from the outside appearance. A few booths, a pool table in back, a jukebox on the wall that was playing some twangy blues guitar solo from whatever song the patrons had put on, and a bar shoved in the center of the barn. There was a bartender standing oddly stiff behind it, already staring at me as soon as I walked in with a smile that seemed to stretch too wide on his old, weathered face.

Aside from the two of us there was a man sitting at the bar, his head low, looking into his glass of whiskey. I took a seat at the bar right across from where the tender was standing. He looked over at me, moving just his neck and not his whole body. I quickly decided to just order a beer and leave.

“What’ll it be?” He asked, his voice an octave above a whisper. He sounded as if he was being forced to take my order.

“Just a beer, whatever’s cold. I’m not picky.” I replied, trying to get in and out as soon as possible. The same smile crept back onto his face as he turned around, almost mechanically and grabbed a bottle of beer. He slapped the beer down in front of me and twisted off the cap.

“On the house.” He said, I looked at him quizzically, there was no way this place wasn’t hurting for money.

“You’re sure?”

The man just nodded, smile still on his face, and let out a guttural wheeze. He turned around and walked over to the other dark hooded man at the bar, he leaned over and said something to him. Like a wolf, the man shot up, quickly, zoning in on me. I stood my ground and didn’t high tail it to the door like I had wanted to. The second a wolf smelled fear, you were already dead. The man sat down a stool away from me.

“You got time for a story, friend?” His voice was raspy, a voice that sounded like a fresh piece of sandpaper rubbed his vocal cords upon each word. It was truly chilling. He tapped on a small black notebook on the bar in front of him and flipped the pages that were filled with words.

“I really should be going.” I replied, taking the last sip of my beer. The man held up two fingers and two shot glasses were filled with whiskey and slid in front of us.

“This one’s on me. You wouldn’t want to be rude now, would you?” I looked at the alcohol in front of me, he picked up his glass and held it up, waiting for me to mirror his action. “Take the shot.”

One shot wasn’t going to kill me. I could take the shot, leave the bar, and find something to eat at a gas station. I tapped my shot glass against his and downed it. It burned worse than normal, but I shrugged it off. I needed to get out of there, and quick. I couldn’t have another drink, or I wouldn’t be good to drive and I still had a few hours left in my trip.

“You’re in the game now.” He held up two fingers again and the shots were refilled.

“No thanks, I really have to be going. I have a long drive ahead of me.” I started to stand up, but he grabbed my arm.

I looked down and grimaced. The skin was rotted and decaying, like the man had been dead for years but someone forgot to tell him. I shot out of the chair, pushing his hand from my arm. He took off his hood and his face matched. The skin was rotted, and I could see his jawbone on one side. He laughed.

"That... that’s one hell of a Halloween costume." I stuttered, my voice breaking in fear.

"Sit down. Let me tell you my story."

I turned around to sprint to my car, I hadn't noticed that the bar had been filled behind me. I scanned the room, they all stood, staring at me. Like my new friend, they too were all rotting. After seeing the dead man sitting next to me, my brain didn’t even realize we were no longer alone at this party.

I sat back down, having absolutely no idea what to do or how to handle this. Defeated, I took my second shot and waited to hear what the man had to say. He sat back down too and took his shot. Two more were lined up, I was starting to sense a pattern.

"Name's Krester. As you can probably see... I’m dead, well, maybe dead isn't the word, but I’ve been here for a long, long time." He held up his glass. I, seeing as there was a great chance I was about to be brutally murdered by a pack of “maybe not dead” people, raised mine as well and drank.

"I'm losing my mind, huh? This isn’t a joke?" I said, this time taking the initiative and holding up my fingers ordering two more. Krester drummed on his black notebook and laughed, again.

"I like you! Out of all the others..." he signaled to all the dead behind me, "you may actually be my favorite.” We took the shots, I had a decent tolerance, however I had an empty stomach, so I was already feeling it.

"See, here's the deal. A long time ago, back when I was fully alive, I owned this establishment. I didn't much care for the money, I was a collector of stories and trinkets. That was my vice. If a man came through and wanted to drink but had no coin that was alright by me. If he had something to offer, whether it be something interesting or even an intriguing story." He tapped on his little black leather-bound book, again. Another round of shots. “See one Halloween night, the bar was particularly dead... no pun intended. A man strolled in, a man I had seen before many times, he always brought me in something peculiar. He leaned over the bar he said to me, 'Krestor, what if I told you that you could live on in this place forever, collecting tales and trinkets until the end of time?' Naturally, I needed whatever it was he was offering... I was a stupid man back then." Another round of shots. I was on the fine line of being drunk.

"This is unbelievable." I pulled the phone out of my pocket. You guessed it, no service. Krestor grabbed the phone and put it on the bar top.

"He reached in his bag and in his hand, he held up a golden bottle. In this bottle was a never-ending supply of whiskey... a special whiskey. When I drink it, I gain the life of the person drinking with me. Meaning, if you’re… what, 25 now? If you’re 26 and supposed to live until age 75, I get 50 years added onto my life." He nodded at me, I looked at the shot glass. “It’s simple really, you just outdrink me and you get the prize?” He snapped his fingers and the notebook turned into a stack of cash. “$20,000… not to mention you live a full life to enjoy it.”

"So, all I have to do is outdrink you, a man who has built up a 200-year tolerance to booze?" I took the shot and ordered another taking it down, too. A dead man growled in my ear behind me. Something told me that they were getting impatient.

"That's the spirit! We have a long night ahead of us."

As the night went on and the shots kept on flowing, Krester continued to tell me about all the people he had bested over the years. I knew I should be terrified I knew I should be begging for my life. However, the more I drank of the whiskey, the less I seemed to care about anything at all. We traded stories about drunken benders and debauchery. Somewhere between arm wrestling and that game.... where you stab between each other’s fingers.... you know what I'm talking about, I had enough. I hopped over the bar, grabbed the bottle of whiskey, and started downing it as fast as I could.

"Why did you have to go and do that? I was actually enjoying this." He yelled, jumping over the bar. He hit me harder than I had ever been hit in my entire life. I fell to the ground and wiped the blood from my nose. A boot came down colliding with my face. I was out cold.

I had no idea how long I was asleep for, but I awoke to the sound of my phone ringing next to me, sober. I opened my eyes, I was lying on my side, a line of puke in front of me. I stood up rubbing my head. The bar was... not a bar at all anymore. It was just a big empty barn. Putting the phone to my ear Finn was on the other line.

"How's the traffic?"

"What...?" I asked.

"Are you drunk? You can't be serious... you texted me an hour ago about pulling off for food." He yelled.

"No, I'm... I'm on my way I was just zoning out. I'll call you back."

I sprinted out of the barn. The dirt road was just a vacant as it was when I had walked in. My car was the only car in the middle of the road. I got in and turned it on, taking a deep breath. Having no doubt in my mind that what just happened was real. I looked on my passenger’s seat, there was a bar tab receipt and the $20,000.

"Ya got balls, kid. In the years I’ve been doing this no one has EVER gone for the bottle. You win this round, but I promise you this... I will see you again. Until next time. Krester." It was going to be one hell of a Halloween night and drinks were on me, I smiled as I fanned through the cash.