Shark Beast 2: Paranormal Sharkitivity Read online

  (With the plus of having no memorization.)

  So:

  They set out the towel, removed their tops, and their bottoms, and clicked the camera on, and then did the same to the digital recorder, and they went at it, like the true thespian lesbians their characters demanded them to be.

  And, after a moment of speaker crackles and pre-recorded throat clearings, "the story" as read aloud by a certain Britnee with two "e's", began to fill the cool-breezin' hot-lovin' beach night air...

  ~ ~ ~

  There was rain, and a little bit of fog one 3 a.m. night outside Paddy's Bar...

  Tentacle NINE

  "Closing Time"

  A Short Story

  by

  One Of Britnee's Ex-Whoevers

  There was rain, and a little bit of fog one 3 a.m. night outside Paddy's Bar.

  Paddy, inside wiping down the bar and restacking the shotglass pyramid, that's when he noticed it. Not so much the rain -- but the fog, that sure was an unusual sight. Especially how it was curling and flowing right up against the big front glass window; the big neon "PADDY'S" sign throwing surreal electric-blue-purple-green tints all over the smoky mass... The sign blinked, and every few seconds or so all that could be seen ... nothing but eerily glowing green. Made the fog look like something out of a werewolf movie, out in London Town, deep in the moors... or some creature out of a sci-fi movie.

  Paddy smiled.

  He liked sci-fi movies.

  Yep, sure was a sight, this fog. He set his rag on the bar counter, and leaned forward on his elbows, and really took it in. And why not? It was almost closing time (come on 3:30!), there were no customers, most of the cleaning had been done (at least what he didn't plan to leave for Sarah, when she opened tomorrow morning; it wasn't busy tonight, not at all, but she wouldn't know that), and let's face it, this was a close to ambiance as this place was ever going to get...

  So he stared at the fog, the neon-soaked tide that rose and settled softly against the window...

  (trying to get in)

  That made Paddy laugh.

  "Sorry," he said, resting his chin on hairy knuckles. "We don't serve fogs here."

  That made Paddy laugh even more, though he wasn't sure why. Though that didn't stop him from repeating it.

  "Don't serve fogs here," he said, musingly. He continued staring at the fog, the neon reflections...it's like the world's biggest lava lamp!...

  .... Until finally, about ten minutes after three, the front door opened, jangling a bell.

  Paddy blinked, leaning up away from the bar. A little disappointed; not so much that he had to get back to work; but now he couldn't watch the window no more...

  He brightened, though, when the shadowy figure walked into the yellowish light of the bar. It was Micky, one of the regulars.

  "Mick, my man, have a seat, take a load off, peanuts are on the house." He reached under the bar, and pulled out a small bowl of nuts. "Pull up a stool, fool," he grinned.

  "Well, you're in a good mood, aren't you," Micky said, in a deep gravelly tone that took Paddy aback. "Considering the hour and all."

  "Hey, always glad to see one of the gang, no matter what the hour," Paddy said, though his words kind of faded out at the end. Paddy was distracted by Micky's appearance. Ol' Mick never was a man who'd end up on the cover of GQ, but here, now... Micky looked ... off. And check out his hair, kind of matted, clumpy-looking. And his five o'clock shadow had a five o'clock shadow...

  Paddy's bartender instincts kicked in. He looks like a man who's been sleeping on the couch, and not a very comfortable couch at that...

  "May I borrow your rag?" Micky asked, in that same gravelly voice.

  Paddy blinked dumbly, then: "Oh, sure, go ahead. It's a little wet though..."

  He handed his bar rag to Micky, who slowly, somewhat methodically, wiped his hands with it.

  "Thanks," Micky said, dully, handing it back.

  "No problem, my man," Paddy said, taking the rag and setting it behind the bar. He pushed the bowl of nuts in front of Micky. "You want your usual, or...?

  "I'd just like a bottle of beer," he said.

  "Beer? In a bottle?" Paddy blinked again. "Sure, no problem. I'm here to serve."

  He leaned down, plucked out a cool brown bottle.

  Weird, he thought, as he popped the top. The way he said that, like he was asking for some medicine instead of a nice cold one...

  He set it on a napkin in front of Micky, who nodded perfunctorily, and reached for some peanuts.

  "So, Mick, my man," Paddy said, thumping the counter with a good-natured fist, and going into patter mode. "Haven't seen you around lately, what you been up to, where you been, etc. and all that, blah-de-blar?"

  Micky hefted in a burden of air, then let it out in a faraway sigh.

  "Been taking care of a few things, I guess," he said, wearily. He reached for more peanuts -- but did not touch his beer. Paddy noticed this.

  "Must be some mighty convoluted involved things," Paddy said, leaning back and crossing his arms somewhat guardedly in front of his chest. "Have to say you've got the look of the ragged about you tonight. Anything you need to get off your chest? We're getting close to closing time, but always have a moment to help a reliable customer with some bartenderly advice."

  Micky slowly lifted his gaze and put it square on Paddy, and, sporting a regretfully thin smile, said: "Naaah. I think you've helped enough."

  He reached for more peanuts.

  Paddy's eyebrows raised.

  "What do you mean by that?" he asked, puzzled. "Did I do or say something, last time you were here? Is that why you haven't been around your usual time; I push the wrong button or something?"

  Micky didn't say anything for a moment; just shifted his eyes vaguely to the left while he finished his current mouthful of peanuts. When he was done, he said: "No, Paddy, it's.... it's nothing you said. It's just..." His eyes went faraway. "You remember that little sign you had, that joke sign that said, 'Life is funny, but Death ... is a riot.' Remember that?"

  "Yeah, sure. I guess."

  "I guess that's been goin' through my head lately. About how, I don't know, life is funny sometimes. That's all." His faraway look continued; then, turning back to Paddy, he grinned. "Really, that's all. Just Life, and..."

  "...how funny it is," Paddy said, his voice suddenly serious. He paused, dramatically, then said: "This is all about a woman, ain't it?"

  Micky smiled, but there was no heart in it.

  "Tell the truth now, son. Tell Paddy what Paddy knows."

  Micky's smile thinned.

  "Don't lie to Paddy. There's a female involved, yes or no?"

  "Yes," Micky said, with a what-can-you-do shrug. "I guess that's true enough. There's certainly a woman --"

  He paused, taking his first sip from the bottle. A deep sip.

  "I knew it, I knew it," Paddy chuckled, his face all flush with here we go, situation explained. "Anytime a man is off his game, who do ya blame? Blame the dame." He nodded knowingly, and not a little smugly. "Been that way ever since the world began. Elvis sang that, and truer words, you know the rest. Well, that certainly explains why I haven't seen you around for the last couple of weeks. What is she, married, or running you ragged some other way?"

  Mick's already weak, watery smile drained away completely. A lumbering sigh. He leaned forward, rubbling his temples wearily.

  "A husband was involved... yes."

  Paddy tsk-tsked. "Married women, that never leads to anything but grief and back again. That goes double if you're the one she's married to."

  He chortled, and raised a brow in the style that asked: am I right? Do I know what I'm talking about?

  Micky just shrugged, wearily. What can you do?

  "So tell me," Paddy said, sneaking a quick peak at the clock (fifteen minutes 'til closing, make this fast), "does the hubby in question know, or -"

  Just then, another jingle from the front door.

  Paddy leaned over,
watching.

  Micky just stared ahead, emptily.

  The silhouette, this time, belonged to a mousy-looking female.

  Like a librarian or something, he thought, grimacing slightly. What is this, Oprah's Book Club? C'mon, people, it's late, Big Paddy's tired...

  (no fogs allowed)

  The librarian took a seat on the far end of the bar, three seats away from Micky.

  "So what can I do you for, young miss?" Paddy asked, producing a shiny smile. "It's-not-ladies-night-but-I'll-still-treat-you-right..."

  "I'll just have some tea."

  "Some tea?" Paddy nodded, blankly. Man, this is Oprah's Book Club. "We can do that, we can do that."

  He grinned a be-right-back grin to Micky, and, after filling a cup with hot water and sticking a tea bag in it, set it in front of the librarian.

  "There you go," he said, and then, for no particular reason, added: "Bruce Willis was a bartender, did you know that?"

  She looked up at him, seemed to ponder this, then, said, "Thanks for the tea."

  "There you go," he repeated, then moved back to Micky.

  "So," Paddy said, giving Mick a searching look, to see if he still wanted to talk about the woman-and-husband thing, in front of the tea-tipper.

  "Whatever happened to that sign?" Mick asked suddenly.

  Paddy cocked his head. "What sign?"

  "The one we was talking about," he said, touching absently at his five-cum-six o'clock shadow. He was smacking his lips, as if harboring a bad taste. "The one about 'Life Is Funny, But Death...Is a Riot.'" He nodded, agreeing with himself. "Yeah, that one. It used to be on your bulletin board. Whatever happened to it?"

  "Ahhh, oh, I'm not sure." Paddy gave Mick a strange look, but Mick wasn't paying attention. His head was craned, looking over at the bulletin board. Paddy gave a look, too. "One of crew took it down, I guess. Got tired of it, probably. People always putting stuff up, taking it down. I had to get on 'em, once about a pin-up that--"

  The door jingled again.

  This time, four people -- a family! Man, wife, two big-eared boys, couldn't be more than ten years old apiece...

  What is this, a convention?

  He looked at the time (3:19), and decided he was going to have to turn out his neon light, the fog show was over, time to move it on --

  The family took a seat back in the corner booth.

  "Family, kids?" he muttered, in a just-between-you-and-me voice to Micky. "Picnic at Disneyworld, here."

  He folded his rag, placed it on the counter, and headed to the booth.

  "What can I do you for?" he asked, propping up that smile again. "We're closin' up in a few, but if you want a--"

  "We'll just have four waters please," the man said.

  Paddy looked at him. "Four...waters? That's it?"

  They all just looked back at him, expectantly.

  "I think we can round that up," he said, with a shrug.

  He went to the bar, brought back a tray with four filled water glasses, and dealt them out to the family.

  "There ya go," Paddy said.

  The father nodded, and the family sat there, looking at their waters.

  O-kayyy, Paddy thought to himself, as he walked over to the window, and made a point of reaching for the light switch string dangling from his neon PADDY'S sign...

  (man, that neon fog looks so cool, I almost hate to --)

  He gave a nice, firm tug, doing his best to let everyone get the idea that, sorry, folks, wrap it up...

  (you don't have to go home but you can't stay here)

  ...because it's almost closing time.

  Click.

  And the fog rolled, in its newfound black-and-white non-neon glory.

  ~ ~ ~

  "Hmmm, I tell ya," Paddy confided to Micky with an annoyed smirk (as he looked at the time -- 3:27 -- I got to get these nuts outta here!), "usually folks don't act this weird until after they've had their drinks." He shook his head -- what can you do? -- and continued on an earlier theme: "So this husband or whatnot, does he know what--"

  "So what do you think happened to that sign?" Micky asked. "I mean, exactly?"

  "Sign?" Paddy gave a look while he waited for the question to register. "Oh, the... the dead laugh riot sign or whatever? Jiminy, Mick, I don't know ... what's all about the sign? Did you want it for your office or something, or what?"

  "Just wanted to know," he said, very deliberate, very precise, "who took it down."

  Paddy gave him an are-you-serious? look, then said, "Gee, Mick, I don't know. I don't keep track of that crap. And I gotta tell ya, you're kind of freakin' me out, here, and it's kind of late for that..."

  He looked over at the librarian. She was nursing her tea, staring down at her cup.

  "...so, what can I tell ya. That mystery woman you're on about, she must have done a real number on you, 'cause you're really X-Filing on me here."

  (Paddy grinned a bit at this.)

  (He liked the "X-files.")

  Then -- for the first time since he walked through the door -- Micky laughed. Quietly, ruefully, but he laughed.

  "Actually, think the number got done on her."

  "Whatever, now you're sounding like Hannibal Lecter, and I --"

  The door jingled.

  "Sweet Kermit the Freakin' Frog," Paddy said, disbelieving. "What's going on here --"

  A figure walked in, and it was a young women, this time an incredibly hot-looking, dark-eyed woman.

  "I'm sorry, but we're basically closed," he called out to her. (He took in a good eyeful though.)

  She simply said, "I'm with them."

  She didn't indicate anyone in particular; just walked over to the nearest table, and sat down, alone.

  "Is there some middle of the night parade I don't know about?" Paddy asked Micky. "I never had a three o'clock like this before, not in the middle of the week..."

  "But seriously, no offense, can you give me any idea what you think happened to that sign, and who you think took it down?"

  Paddy glared at Micky. "What are you talking about, Mick? I don't know, I told you."

  "Just a guess. Please?"

  Paddy's mouth popped open, as he blinked dully. "Mick. I don't know. I don't care. It was just a sign. One of the guys took it down. Or Sarah. Or..."

  He snapped his fingers.

  Mick looked up, expectantly. "Yes?" he said, his voice hopeful.

  "Ahh, I was just realizing, Sarah took it down. I remember now."

  "She did? Why?"

  Paddy looked at Mick, more puzzled than angry. "You're acting like this is, you know, secrets of national security or something. I don't know why, and I don't know why you care, but, oh, she took it down, because, I remember now, she didn't like it had a cuss word on it."

  "A cuss word?" Mick looked up, mentally going through the sign. "What cuss word?"

  "I just remember, you're remembering it wrong. It didn't say, Life's Funny, Death's a Riot, or whatever. It said 'Life's A Bitch, and Then You Die.' You know, the old joke-saying. That's why I didn't know what you were talking about, 'cause the sign said something else. It had the word 'bitch' in it, and Sarah don't like the word 'bitch'. Even when it's not being used, you know, like about a woman, or whatever. She just, it's her pet thing." He snorted. "So, there, the big mystery, it's solved. You happy now?"

  Mick sat back in his stool, slumped. Not happy at all. Matter of fact, very disappointed.

  Paddy, now completely perplexed, let out a short, sharp laugh.

  "What's goin' on? You lose a bet or something, about the sign or --"

  The door jingled again.

  "What the!" Paddy snorted again. "Okay, that's it. We gotta start moving people out, this is --"

  He stopped short.

  When the figure walked into the light, it came in the shape of a very short ...

  A little girl.

  A couldn't-be-older-than-seven-or-eight-year-old little girl.

  "What is this, Romper Room?" Paddy started
to address the little girl, but Micky interrupted.

  "So Sarah did it, huh? She took down the sign. I guess so she could put up that petition, the one about bar owners not being liable for what the drunks they serve do after they hit the road, huh? She do that?"

  The slightly-accusing tone caused Paddy to turn away from the little girl and give Micky a searching eye.

  "What are you getting at, Mick?" Paddy said, all trace of Your Friendly Bartender long gone. "You, what is this?" He looked around at the people, all silent, all carrying their own shadows. "This some kind of protest or something? Mothers Against Drunk Drivers, come to do a hippy sit-in, because I put up a petition to protect my rights?" He zeroed in on Mick, who was pushing the peanuts away, and bringing the beer closer. "You know it wasn't Sarah. It was me. So you gonna make trouble for me at 3 o'clock in the morning. What'd you do, have a religious experience that last couple of weeks?" He slapped the rag against the counter, in a spot right in front of Mick, who didn't flinch. "Some friend. Some hypocrite. I shoulda figured, all these people, sitting here, ordering tea and water they don't even drink." He looked up at the dark people. "Couldn't do this in the bright light of day, huh. Figures. Some friend, Mick. Even got to bring a little girl into all this. Nice touch. Nice how after all these --"

  "She's dead, Paddy."

  Paddy stopped, suspicious eyed. "Oh, now comes the drama," he grunted, his voice cynical and here-we-go.

  "You know that woman trouble we was talking about earlier?" he asked breezily, taking a hard gulp from his beer. He swallowed with an exaggerated, distasteful smack-smack-smack, as if having just downed caster oil. Then, gestured with a weary jerk of his head. "Well, that's her."

  Paddy blinked, then blinked at the girl (who stood in the middle of the bar, staring, no blinks at all, like she'd never blinked in her life, didn't even know how), then at the other people in the bar, who sat in deep, looming silence.

  A dim, disturbed light flickered in Paddy's brain.

  "Oh, Mick," he said, raising his palms up and out. "Is this some child creep sex thing, and they followed you here to...?" He raised his hands even higher. "Oh no, people, keep me out of this. Whatever you gonna do, you can't do it here. I--"