Dance of the Skelly Men

A chilly rain lashes me as I race from my car into the dimly lit bar. This storm had whipped up suddenly, blotting out the full moon and making the night even darker. I was lucky to spot this place from the highway before visibility completely disappeared. If not for the neon yellow sign, I might have passed it.

I’m completely soaked, water puddling under my hiking shoes as I stand at the entrance looking around. God, I hate road-side dive bars, and this place had seen better days. Dark paint and scarred wooden tables add to the gloomy atmosphere, but it’s dry and as good a place as any to wait out the storm.

“Hey mister, if you’re waiting to be seated, you’ll be standing there all night.” The gruff voice of the bartender shakes me from my stupor.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry,” I mumble, moving to sit at the bar. His almost bald head reflects the weak lighting and at his expectant look, I clear my throat. “I’ll have a coke, please.”

He doesn’t quite roll his eyes, but he makes it obvious he’s not impressed by my order, with a not so silent grunt.

As he’s pouring my drink, I catch sight of my reflection in the dirty mirror that lines the wall behind the bar. Good god, I look like a drowned raccoon! Dark circles from long hours of driving ring both eyes and my still dripping dark hair and five o'clock shadow only add to the image.

I startle when the bar keep thumps the mug of coke on the counter in front of me. “That’ll be two fifty,” he grumbles.

Nodding, I dig a five-dollar bill from my sodden jeans and slide it towards him. “Thanks, and keep the change.”

“Gee, you’re so generous,” he says, this time not holding back the eye roll.

I bite my lip to keep any snappy retorts from escaping.

“Bah, don’t take Luther’s shitty attitude personally. He’s like that with everyone.” A gruff but jovial voice from behind me says.

Whipping around, I blink at the bulky man sitting at a table that I swear was empty when I came in. A blue cap partially hides his dusty white hair, and the matching beard is so long that it nearly touches his Santa like belly. He flashes a yellow-toothed grin when he notices my perusal.

“Where did… ? I didn’t see you when I arrived,” I splutter.

His chair scrapes along the floor as he pushes it back to stand. “I’ve been coming here so long that I practically blend into the surroundings,” he laughs, coming over to sit next to me at the bar.

Luthor snorts, casting him an unamused glare before passing the ‘newcomer’ a frothy pint. “I swear, Bill, I’ll burn this place to the ground if you become part of the furniture.”

True to his Santa like appearance, Bill issues a hearty laugh before downing nearly half his beer.

Glancing between the two men, I plaster a smile on my face before lifting my drink to my lips. The soda is almost flat, but at least it’s cold.

“You know that stuff will rot your guts, right?” Bill asks, nodding toward my drink.

“Unlike beer that gives you a protruding gut, I suppose?” I shoot back, glancing down at his rounded stomach.

He belches before chugging the rest of his beer. “Fair point. Speaking of guts, I’ve got a story that’ll test whether you have any.” He tips his head and closes one eye as he studies me. “Care to hear it?”

Before I can answer him, Luthor swears and throws his hands up in the air. “Not this story again, Bill! For the love of my sanity, could you not?”

“It’s a gooder! Creepy as hell, that’s why Luthor hates it!” Bill says, grinning at Luthor’s snort.

“I hate it, because I’ve heard it a million times, you old coot!” Luthor snaps.

Their banter calms my unease, and I nod at Bill’s expectant look. “Sure, why not?”

Bill scoots forward, an eager look on his face, while Luthor frowns. “I’ll be in the back, trying not to drown myself,” he remarks, giving us both a dirty look before heading to what I assume is the kitchen.

Bill ignores him, putting his full focus on me. I’m unnerved by the near fanatical look that enters his almost colourless grey eyes and brace myself for some cheesy local ghost story.

“Are you familiar with Dead Man’s Grove?” He asks, his voice dropping an octave.

Jerking back, I eye him with confusion as my heart rate picks up. “That… that’s where I’m headed, actually. I’m staying in a friend's cabin for a few days,” I say and bite my tongue to keep from adding further details.

It was weird enough that his story focuses on the place I’m going; he doesn’t have to know I’m going there on a much-needed stress leave from my demanding corporate job.

“Is it now? Well, perhaps our meeting is fortunate, then,” he says with a wink.

I’m far from convinced about that, but I take another swallow of my flat drink as Bill launches into his tale.

“It’s been nearly fifteen years since I hiked the trail to that grove. Darkness pressed in on me as I entered a clearing, but the moon was full, so I had no problems pitching my tent. A fire took longer to get going though, and by the time I had a small blaze lit, the moon was well past its zenith. Now, a man hears all sorts of things when staying alone in the woods, both real and imagined.” He pauses for dramatic effect, and I admit I lean forward in anticipation.

“Music drifted to me, a tune both eerie yet familiar. Another camper nearby, perhaps? My curiosity piqued, I followed that strange melody. To this day I couldn’t tell you how far I walked, it was as if I was in a trance. When I came within the glow of another campfire, reality came crashing back in and I ducked behind some shrubs. What I saw froze my blood and left me unable to move.” Glancing at his empty mug, he sighs before continuing.

“My sleep has never been the same. No matter how long it’s been, what I saw… what I heard remains vivid in my mind. The low rattle of bones was the first thing I noticed. I don’t know why my mind processed that before it did the dancing skeletons, or their discarded skin puddled at their boney feet. There were three of them, their bones glowing a soft orange from the fire’s light. No blood or bits of meat clung to them, just three perfect human frames swaying to an unknown song. I wanted to run, truly I did, but my horror kept me bound.” He visibly shudders, and I feel my skin prickle.

“A soft groan drew my attention to one of the crumpled piles of skin laying like dirty laundry on the ground. I nearly puked when a pair of eyes blinked at me from that deflated mess and its lips formed words. Now, I’m no lip reader, but I swear it mouthed, ‘help me’.” Huffing, Bill flips his hat off to run a hand through his thinning hair.

“As God is my witness, when a boney hand grabbed up that heap of human flesh, I nearly screamed. A costume… that creature slipped it on like it was a costume, even zipping it up at the back! I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sickening wet sounds their actions made as they… got dressed. My eyes stayed glued to that nightmarish scene and soon three average looking men stood around that campfire looking slightly dazed. It was then that whatever spell I had been under broke, and I hightailed it out of there. I never packed up my campsite so fast!” Bill’s breathing heavily as he relives that night.

I offer a nervous chuckle as his story ends and he pulls himself together enough to offer me a weak grin. “So, I guess the moral of the story is don’t be following no midnight lullabies into the night! My pa used to speak of skin-walkers, and I don’t know if that’s what I saw, but I haven’t gone back into those hills since,” he says, once more eyeing his empty mug.

“What’s a man have to do to get a beer around here?” He hollers, pounding his mug on the counter.

Luthor emerges from the back, grumbling something under his breath, but doesn’t hesitate to pour Bill his beer.

As Bill turns away from me to grab his drink, I notice something on the back of his neck. His hair partially hides it, but an almost zipper like scar runs along his spine, disappearing behind the collar of his jacket.

The scrape of my stool is loud as I stand, the abrupt movement nearly toppling it. As both sets of eyes turn my way, I stumble back.

“Sounds like the rain has almost stopped! I’m going to head out,” I blurt, a crash of thunder punctuating my lie and making me jump.

I’m sure they were pulling my leg; they had to be, but with visions of discarded skin and dancing skeletons fresh in my mind, I didn’t feel like sticking around.

I spin so fast towards the exit that I don’t see their expressions and only catch a muffled chuckle from one of them.

“Remember, beware the skelly men!” Bill shouts just before the door closes.

Did I mention I hate road-side dive bars?

**Author's note: I had a bit of fun with DALL E-3 AI art generator with this story. Let me know if you enjoyed the pictures. I felt it added a bit of a graphic novel flare, haha! But, I definitely won't be doing this for all my stories. Thanks for reading!