Fenton Horn arrived at Perryville, Kentucky driving a brand new Ford Thunderbird. He slowly drove the streets of the small town looking for a place to wet his whistle. Not seeing any taverns in town, he stopped at the only hotel to rent a room. He entered the building and walked up to the counter. A white-haired, chubby woman stood behind the counter.
“Good day to you, sir. My name is Mrs. Murphy. Are you looking to rent a room?”
Fenton tipped his hat to her then removed it from his head and held it in his hand. “Good day to you Mrs. Murphy. Yes, I am, in fact looking for a room. I assume you have accommodations.”
She turned the guest book around to have him sign his name and said, “Room 203 faces the river and is our most comfortable room. It is thirty dollars a day, which includes meals.”
Fenton signed the guest book. “Here is the money for a week’s stay. By the way, I noticed there is no tavern in the town. Does Perryville frown on such an establishment?”
“Oh no, Mr. Horn. We had a tavern built, but it burned down years ago. We all felt sympathy for the owner because it burned down twice. The second time he died in the fire. We built a church in its place and haven’t had any trouble since.”
He nodded his head at Mrs. Murphy and moved his bags into his room. He stared out the window watching the river. “This town certainly needs a decent bar. There is a plot of land for sale at the end of town. I believe I will have better luck building my pub there.”
It took six months of spending his inherited California gold to build the establishment and stock it with proper drink. On the opening day, he placed a big banner outside, welcoming all to Fenton’s Bar. At the opening, customers came in out of curiosity, but after a few short months dwindled to a few regulars. A disappointed Fenton spent many nights alone in the bar with nothing but the whiskey to keep him company.
One night, Fenton had a handsome customer, Thomas, who enjoyed the whiskey as much as Fenton. Late into the evening, the Thomas remarked, “Well, Fenton. This was my last night of freedom. I’m heading to Georgia to marry into a wealthy family. They have the money, but no title. I have a title but no money. Our parents arranged the marriage years ago when we were infants.” He tossed a tumbler of whiskey back and sighed.
Fenton poured Thomas another shot. He picked up the glass and stared into the amber liquid.
“Maybe I should make a deal with the devil and be free.”
Fenton asked, “What do you mean?”
“People from these parts talk about filling a wooden box with certain items, bury the box at the middle of a crossroads and the Devil will appear. He grants your wish in exchange for your soul.”
Closing time came and Fenton walked his friendly customer to the door and wished him well. After locking the door, he leaned against it with a thoughtful look on his face. In the upcoming days, Fenton would ask anyone he met about the legend of the crossroads. Finally, someone provided him the details. He built a small wooden box. Into the container he placed graveyard dirt, a black cat's bone (sorry Mrs. Murphy), and a picture of himself. At midnight, he buried the box at the center of the crossroads, and stood staring down at the small grave.
The rumor didn’t have instructions on what to do after the burial. Should he dance, play his harmonica, or stand there trying to summon the Devil. After fifteen minutes passed, Fenton kicked the dirt piled on the buried box.
“That is a shameful way for treating an offering.” Said a voice from behind him.
Fenton spun around and almost fell to the ground thinking someone from town caught him in his antics. “Who-who-who.”
“Now, now, Fenton. Are you surprised your magic worked?” Said the man dressed in a black suit with a red tie and shoes polished so shiny they reflected the moon. “What were you expecting, cloven hoofs, and horns?”
Fenton nervously laughed and said, “No, no. I didn’t know what to expect. Heck, I wasn’t sure if this would even work.”
The man smiled and the front gold tooth glimmered in the moonlit sky. “By the way, my name is Manssin. What can I do for you?”
“I have this place, Fenton’s Bar. It’s not doing well in drawing crowds to come in and have a good time. I’d like to see the place prosper.”
“Done. This is a thirty-year deal. Give me your hand to seal the bargain.” Fenton stuck out his right hand and Manssin produced a knife from his pocket and placed a cut across Fenton’s palm. Fenton jerked and then stared stupidly at the cut. Manssin proceeded to cut his own right hand and when finished, he clasped Fenton’s hand with his own and they shook on the deal.
“One last thing,” Manssin said, “Change the name of the bar to the Devil’s Horn.” He smiled, turned, and proceeded to walk away while whistling a tune familiar to Fenton, and caused shivers down his spine.
As requested, Fenton changed the name and the town’s folk and out-of-towners started frequenting the place. The Devil’s Horn prospered.
Thirty years later, the attendance once again started dwindling and Fenton mostly drank his stock alone. One night on a full moon, people heard dogs howling mournfully. The sounds were so dreadful and frightening it placed fear in the hearts of those who heard the noise. People ran inside, locked their doors, and boarded their windows. Fenton merely sat on a bar stool drinking whiskey with a shaky hand.
It wasn’t long before he heard the dogs outside the bar and when they crashed through, he saw two creatures almost as big as bears with sleek hair, black as coal, and glowing red eyes. They lunged toward Fenton and dragged him from the bar to the spot where he buried his box so many years ago. A crevice in the earth opened and a strong odor of sulfur offended Fenton’s nose. He peered down into the bleakness of the hole remembered Hell is a place of torment. The Hellhounds grabbed him one last time with their jaws and dove straight into the hole as Fenton screamed for mercy.
The next morning, the people of Perryville cautiously peered out their doors or windows. Seeing nothing but beautiful sunshine, they ventured out and began their day. They pushed the disturbing noise from the previous night in the back of their minds.
As for Fenton Horn, the town assumed he packed and left the bar during the night. No one missed him or ventured into the bar looking for him or a drink.
Years later Lisette and Armand Cavelle stood outside the Devil’s Horn. Apparently Armand was the only remaining relative to Fenton Horn, declared legally dead many years after his disappearance.
They wandered through the building, taking in the carved woodwork of the bar and the termite damage on the wooden floor. Armand carefully stepped on a board, but his weight and the damage inflicted by the termites caused the board to break. Lisette looked over at him and lifted an eyebrow.
During the walk through town, Lisette picked up a brochure about Perryville. “Armand listen to this, one of the largest battles of the Civil War happened near our little town. Seven thousand men died and no one bothered to bury the corpses. The people in town tell stories about seeing an apparition of a soldier walking around the field. I wonder if there are some other haunted places in town. Maybe we should go ghost hunting.”
Armand looked at Lisette and rolled his eyes. Ghosts and stories of urban legends never sparked an interest in him.
It took a year for Armand and Lisette to rebuild the building to their idea of what a successful pub would look like in a small town. They hired a cook and offered meals as well as drink. From the moment they reopened the Devil’s Horn, they had a steady clientele.
Lisette stretched lazily in bed as the mid-morning sun crept into the room. Armand lay on his side, his even breathing indicating he still slept. She inched closer to his body and slowly rubbed her silky left leg up and down his right muscular one. She leaned closer and whispered in his ear,
“Good morning, my pet. It’s time to wake up.”
“Umpfff. I still want to sleep. What time is it?”
“Ten a.m., Darling.” Lisette answered as she slipped into her bathrobe. “Aren’t we opening the pub earlier today for National Beer day? I’m going to make coffee. Why don’t you shower and by then it will be ready—unless you’re too old to get your lazy butt out of bed.”
As Lisette walked through the bedroom door, a pillow bounced off the other side. Her face had a sly smile.
A freshly showered and shaved Armand entered the kitchen looking for his coffee. Lisette placed a plate of eggs, sausage, and toast at Armand’s place at the table. When he finished eating, he headed to the Devil’s Horn. Lisette arrived an hour later as she had a few stops to make before work.
At precisely 2:00 p.m. Armand unlocked the doors and there were a few people waiting to come in. They took their places at the bar and asked if there were specials for the day.
“For National Beer Day I bought cases of Ghost Face Killah. When the beer is made, they roast six types of chili peppers and add serrano, jalapeno, and habanero to the brew. Care to try a beer with an extra kick?”
The men looked at each other and decided to try the brew. After one sip they both looked at each other and asked for a glass of water chaser. After a few more sips of the beer, they no longer needed the water and they started toasting everything from the morning sun to the hops in the field.
More people started coming inside and the waitresses were kept busy getting drinks for the people sitting at the tables. Everyone was having a grand time, throwing darts, playing pool and kicking back chipotle ale.
The front door opened with a gust of wind and a man in a black suit with red tie crossed the threshold. He bellied up to the bar and asked for a whiskey. Armand poured the man a glass and said, “I haven’t seen you in here before. My name is Armand. Welcome to the Devil’s Horn.”
The man tossed back the drink. “I am called Manssin. I remember a different gentleman owned this establishment years ago. Whatever happed to him?”
“Oh, that would be Fenton. Apparently, he disappeared many years ago and is thought to be dead. I am a relative of his, which is how I received the bar. My wife, Lisette, is my partner.”
Manssin tapped the top of his glass and Armand refilled the tumbler. “How are you doing with the bar? I believe Fenton had quite a bit of trouble keeping customers and the business alive.”
“Everything is moving swimmingly. We added food to the menu and I believe this helps keep the people coming back. And days like this, celebrating National Beer Day.”
Manssin swallowed his drink in one gulp, paid his bill and said, “Well, I
wanted to stop in to see how the new tenants were faring. I’m glad it is
working out for you and your wife.” He slid off the barstool and walked to
the door. Before opening it, he turned around once more and canvassed the
room. “It seems they need more party favors. I’ll have to see what I can find
to liven up their beer holiday.” He opened the door and smiled, the gold tooth
gleaming like a small beacon signal.
Lisette and Armand stood behind the bar watching the customers dance, throw darts, and play pool. There was a knock at the door and one of the patrons sitting near the exit, stood up and opened it. All he could see was a dense fog. He turned to his friends to speak when something white and scaly pulled him into the fog. He started screaming, begging for someone to help him, and then silence. Everyone in the bar stood frozen, unable to move, unable to comprehend what had happened.
A tentacle of mist emerged from the murkiness and moved around the doorway, slowly caressing the texture. Another man stood up from the table and moved to close the door. Instead of accomplishing his mission, the tentacle grabbed him, jerking his body through the doorway. Again, there were screams of terror and words begging for help. Then the dreadful silence.
Armand climbed over the bar and moved slowly along the right wall. He reached the front of the bar and again moved as close to the wall as he could, the open door blocking him from the fog. He stopped a few feet, took a deep breath, then rushed the door and slammed it shut.
All the people in the bar started talking at one time. Armand stood on top of a table and yelled, “Quiet everyone. Somebody please turn the juke box off.” The music stopped playing and several people were taking slugs of beer or whatever alcoholic beverage they had in their hands.
Armand jumped down to the floor and quickly moved to the bar. “We need to leave by the kitchen door and when we are outside, stay away from the fog.” He took Lisette by the hand and motioned for all to follow. When they reached the kitchen, the cook looked up.
“What’s happening, Armand?”
“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” Armand walked to the window. Looking out, all seemed clear. He went to the door and opened it a tiny crack, just enough to peer outside. No fog. He opened the door and tentatively took a step outside. He looked right and saw the fog moving quickly toward him. He looked left and more headed his way. He backed into the door and slammed it shut.
“Folks, it looks like we are trapped inside the building at this time. I’m going to call the police and fire department to see if they can help us.”
He picked up the phone and heard no dial tone. He took his cell out of his pocket. No signal.
“Does anyone have a signal on their cell phone?”
The people opened their phone and one by one shook their head.
“Okay, the best thing is not to panic. I believe the fog will dissipate when the sun shines. We have plenty of food and drink remaining. The rest of the night is on the house. Let’s move back into the bar where there is more room.”
Armand turned to the cook, “Whatever you do, do NOT open the door.” As he spoke those words, the fog slowly crept up the window. They both stared and wish for daylight to come.
When he walked into the bar, everyone sat quietly and sipped their beverages. Some of them changed their drink from alcohol to soda. Time slowly moved on, no one interested in playing pool. A lone man threw darts at the board not caring which number he hit. Music no longer played. A girl stood up and headed for the bathroom. When she opened the door, she screamed as a tentacle pulled her into the bathroom. Everyone rushed to the hallway and saw the open door. Silence hung on the crowd like a heavy shawl. Then the screams and begs for mercy were heard from the bathroom. A tentacle started moving from the other side of the door. One man acted quickly. He ran down the short hallway and slammed the door.
When this happened, the tentacle of mist dropped to the floor and an ear piercing shriek of rage filled the hallway. Slowly, the fog on the floor dissolved. People backed out of the hallway and with shaking hands lifted their drinks to their mouths. It seemed morning could not get here fast enough.
One man started crying and pushed the tables over. He was about to throw a chair, when Armand caught the other end. “Peter, you need to remain calm. Please put the chair down.”
“You don’t understand, that woman was my wife. I should have gone along with her. I shouldn’t have left her go alone.”
“Peter, you couldn’t have known it made its way into the bathroom. Someone must have opened the window. I can’t pretend and tell you how you feel, but I do know getting angry won’t help us. Let me get you some coffee.”
Peter nodded and sat down. A few men righted the tables and replaced the chairs. Lisette came with a bucket of water and a plastic bag to pick up any pieces of broken glass and clean the floor.
A group of girls who can in together were huddled by the wall crying. Lisette walked over with a bottle of wine. She took the first sip and passed the bottle to the next girl. “I know it’s hard, but try not to be afraid. As long as we stay clear of the doors, we will be safe.” The nodded and kept passing the bottle around, their crying subsided.
One of the girls asked, “Aren’t you afraid we’ll all die?”
“Yes. But if I get upset then I won’t be able to think clearly. Before we owned the bar I worked in the ER of a hospital. There were plenty of times where I wanted to go into the next room and curl in a ball and cry. But I pushed the fear away.” She patted the girl’s hand.
A half hour later, one of the customers walked up to Armand and said, “Armand, the fog is coming through a gap between the bathroom door and the floor. Is there any way we can put something down to block it?”
“I’ll see what I can find.” Armand searched the basement and found a piece of wood and nails. He came upstairs and stopped at the hallway leading toward the bathrooms. The floor had a small coating of fog. He tried to hammer the plank to the door, but the fog pushed back. He went back into the room and shook his head at the customer who warned him about the fog.
“Lisette, we have a problem. The hallway is starting to slowly fill with the mist. You were a science major, can you think of anything that would dissipate the fog? Basically, it’s a cloud, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes. But this is a cloud unknown to science. I don’t know if the rules of science will apply.”
“Perhaps I can be of some assistance.”
Lisette and Armand turned toward the voice.
“Manssin, how did you get into the bar without passing through the fog? Armand asked.
“My dear boy, that fog is one of my better creations.”
“What the hell are you talking about? This isn’t one of those monster flicks on TV, it’s reality. Let’s go into the kitchen so the others don’t hear. They have enough on their minds.”
“Very well. But some of those movies are based on reality. Take your ancestor, Fenton Horn. He didn’t believe in the devil and yet here I am.”
“I don’t believe in spirits or the devil. But I do want to know how you got in here without harm. Three people have died because of the fog.”
“I could clear the fog away in a blink of an eye, but first you would need to sign something for me.” Manssin pulled a document from his pocket and handed it to Armand.
He read the document and handed it Lisette to read. “What happens after thirty years?”
“Well, I send my friends to come and take you down to Hell. What you receive in turn is this establishment will be successful with no, um, outside interference.”
Armand, thinking of the people trapped in the bar, took a pen from his pocket and prepared to sign the document.
Lisette, snatching the pen from his hand said, “Armand, no. We can figure a way out of this. I know we can.”
She picked up the document, tore it in half and gave it back to Manssin. “Sorry, no souls to be promised to you today. Please leave our establishment.”
Manssin raised his eyebrows and in a beat of a heart no longer stood in the kitchen.
Armand blinked his eyes and waved his hands where Manssin had been standing. He turned to Lisette and said, “Well, hotshot, what do you have in mind.”
Lisette pick up two bottles of Ghost Face Killah and took the caps off and walked to bathroom hallway. The fog still slowly came in through the door and about an inch covered the floor. She walked within touching distance, shook a bottle of beer, and proceed to squirt the brew on the mist on the floor. It gave a shriek and pulled away from opening. Apparently the beast didn’t like it. She coated the bottom of the door and waited to see if the fog tried to roll through.
After a few minutes, she shook the second bottle, and slowly opened the door. The fog was rolling out of the window and Lisette sprayed the remaining mist with more beer. Again, it shrieked and moved faster out the window. When the room cleared out, she closed the window.
“I guess you didn’t like our beer selection for National Beer Day.” She returned to the bar and told Armand that her experiment worked. The beast didn’t like the beer. It contained too many hot items.
Angered at the pain inflicted, the fog started banging on the front door. The women started screaming and everyone moved closer to the bar.
Armand said, “Lisette, do you know if the fog is as high as the building?”
She shook her head. Together they gathered bottles of beer and walked up the stairs to the second floor. When they rebuilt the tavern, they made the upstairs into a bedroom/living room quarters in case they needed to stay over.
They walked to the windows and looked out. The mist never reached the second floor and milled around the bottom of the building. Lisette and Armand opened a window, shook bottles of beer, and let it spray into the fog. Where the brew touched, the fog squealed in pain. The noise was almost as frightening as the night the Hellhounds came for Fenton. When they only had empty bottles remaining, they gathered them up and went downstairs.
Someone asked, “What’s going on? Why is the fog shrieking?”
“Well,” Armand said, “It seems our guest doesn’t like the taste of this beer. We have a chance to fight back until morning comes.”
Someone else said, “Look, the sun is coming up.”
Everyone started cheering and moved toward the front door.
“Wait,” Armand said. “Let me check first. Don’t open the door until I come back.” He ran upstairs and looked out the window. As the sun climbed higher the more the fog disappeared until nothing remained.
Armand went downstairs and opened the front door and the morning sun greeted him. People moved closer to the door. Armand stepped aside to give room for them to leave. He doubted any of them would return.
Lisette walked up behind him and handed him a bottle of Ghost Face Killah. She picked up her own bottle and tapped it on his. “Here’s to no more demons at our bar.” The both took a swig and coughed as the hot, spicy brew ran down their throat.
