Creepy Bar Night

Creepy Bar Night
That night, Alisha pushed through the heavy glass door of the Black Cross Bar, the low thrum of music vibrating through her bones. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and something darker—something she could not name. The bar was dimly lit, only a few overhead bulbs flickering, making every shadow seem alive.

Dave, her boyfriend, was behind the counter, polishing a glass when he saw her. His face lit up for a second, but then his expression softened when he caught the look on her face.

“You look upset,” he said as he poured a tall glass of orange juice and slid it toward her. “What happened?”

Alisha slumped onto a barstool, her bag sliding off her shoulder with a soft thud. She stared at the condensation on the glass before finally answering.

“My new boss,” she muttered, taking a sip of the juice. “She seems like she doesn’t like me. Like she’s already made up her mind about me before even giving me a chance.”

Dave frowned and leaned closer over the bar. “Keira David, right? The new one you told me about? What makes you say she doesn’t like you?”

Alisha let out a humorless laugh. “She barely looks at me, and when she does, it’s like she’s waiting for me to mess up. And today, during the meeting, she kept directing everything to Joel and Sam like I wasn’t even there.”

Dave’s jaw tightened. “Sounds like she’s got some kind of problem with women who know what they’re doing.”

Alisha nodded, but her mind was far away. The shadows on the walls seemed to stretch and crawl closer. She rubbed her arms, suddenly cold despite the warm air of the bar.

“She feels off, Dave,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “Like she knows more than she’s telling me. Like she’s already… part of something I haven’t figured out yet.”

Dave put down the glass he was holding and walked around the counter to sit beside her. “You’re working on that missing women case, right? Maybe all this stress is getting to you.”

Alisha looked up sharply. “No, Dave. This isn’t just stress. The case—everything about it—it’s starting to feel connected to me in ways I can’t explain.”

The bar seemed to grow quieter, as if even the music was listening.

“What do you mean?” Dave asked cautiously.

Alisha swallowed hard, her fingers tightening on the glass. “Tonight we talked to Aria Martin’s family. She was the second woman to go missing. And guess what? She also knew Ashley Malone. She went to Ashley’s studio all the time. That’s two women with direct ties to her. If Ashley isn’t involved, then someone close to her is.”

Dave leaned back, frowning. “Ashley Malone… that’s the photographer, right? The one you said looks kind of… masculine?”

“Yes,” Alisha said, her voice low. “And when we went to her studio earlier, there were pictures of women everywhere—some we recognized as the missing ones, some we didn’t. It’s like she collects them. Frames them. Worships them.”

Dave’s brows knitted together. “That’s creepy as hell.”

Alisha nodded slowly. “Creepy doesn’t even begin to cover it. And the worst part? I felt like we were being watched the entire time we were there. Like Ashley knew we were coming.”

The bartender on the other side of the room dropped a tray, and Alisha jumped, her heart hammering.

Dave noticed and put a hand on her shoulder. “Babe, you’re shaking.”

“I can’t help it,” she whispered. “Everywhere we go, it feels like someone’s following us. Just like Aria said before she disappeared.”

Dave’s face hardened. “Then maybe you need to take a step back from this case. Let Joel and Sam handle it for a while.”

Alisha turned to him sharply, her voice rising. “No. If I step back, we might miss something. These women—Aria, Audrey, all of them—they deserve someone who won’t stop digging. And if Ashley Malone is the reason they’re gone, then I’m not stopping until I find proof.”

Dave exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “You’re gonna get yourself hurt if you keep pushing this hard.”

Before Alisha could answer, the bar door creaked open. A gust of wind rushed in, blowing out one of the candles on the nearest table.

A hooded figure stepped inside.

Every sound in the bar seemed to die at once. The clinking glasses, the low chatter, even the hum of music—all of it stopped.

Alisha’s heart froze.

The hood was pulled low, hiding the person’s face. The figure didn’t go to the bar or take a seat. It just stood there, silent, unmoving, as if waiting.

Dave glanced at her nervously. “You okay?”

But Alisha couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move. Her eyes were locked on the figure.

Then, as suddenly as they had come, the hooded stranger turned and walked back out into the night, the door slamming shut behind them with a sound that echoed through the bar like a gunshot.

The patrons slowly resumed their conversations, the music starting again as if nothing had happened.

But Alisha sat frozen, her fingers gripping the edge of the bar so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Dave touched her arm gently. “Alisha?”

She turned to him slowly, her face pale. “That’s the same hooded figure they saw near Audrey’s house.”

Dave’s eyes widened. “You think they followed you here?”

Alisha didn’t answer. She was staring at the door, her pulse thundering in her ears.

Because deep down, she knew.

Whoever that was—they weren’t just following her.

They were hunting her.

And now they knew exactly where to find her.