Cursed
***
The diner wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. There was a bar to the right, a booth in the corner, and on the left side of the restaurant booths lined the wall. Joanne and Lawrence sat in middle of the bar, her on the left and him on the right. He fiddled with his hands under the bar as Joanne called the waitress over.
“Vanilla latte, two shots of espresso,” she said. She and the waitress turned their eyes to Lawrence.
“Oh, just a regular coffee. Black.”
The waitress repeated their orders with a tired smile, and then turned to prepare them. The two sat in silence until she returned, two steaming cups in her hand.
“Would you like any sugar?”
“No thank you.” Lawrence shook his head. Both of them took hesitant sips as the waitress left them alone.
“So how’d you end up falling asleep in the middle of the woods?” Joanne asked him.
“Exhaustion, I guess,” he said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t remember much.”
“Oh, one of those nights.” Joanne blushed. She hid her smile behind her cup. “How bad is the hangover?”
“I’ve had worse,” he said, holding the white mug to his lips. Both of them turned their gazes towards the diner door as it opened with a chime. Lawrence fearfully watched as two men in police uniforms walked inside. They removed their hats as they sat at the bar. The waitress immediately pulled up two white mugs and filled them with coffee.
“You’re in early today,” the waitress commented.
“We got called in, there was a murder last night,” one of the officers said. Lawrence tensed.
“Really? Who?”
“Riley Jenkins,” the second officer said. “He was found with his throat torn open. His wife said they heard a ruckus in the chicken coop and he went to investigate. She called it in after she heard him screamin’.”
Lawrence sat his mug on the counter and looked at the black contents.
“Who’d want to kill Jenkins? He was a sweet o’ bastard,” the waitress said. Lawrence’s shoulders tensed. He tightly gripped onto his mug. Joanne watched as she cautiously placed her cup on the counter.
“Don’t know,” the first office said. He took a quick drink of his coffee. “Looked like some giant dog though.”
“It wasn’t a dog,” said a definitive, female voice. Everyone turned their eyes to the back corner. A woman in the back both leaned forward, the light revealing her dark, wrinkled face. “It was a man.”
“Men can’t rip out the throats of other men,” the first office said. He took a drink of his coffee, pretending it had a bitter taste and burned his throat for a different reason.
“They can if they are more than man,” Jones said. She slowly scooted out of her booth at the back table, her bangles and necklaces banging together as she moved.
“What are you suggesting it was then?” the second officer asked.
“A werewolf. Half-man. Half-wolf.”
The officers in the room hardened their eyes. The waitress widened her’s and nearly dropped the pot of coffee in her hand. Joanne tensed, though her eyes were watching how Lawrence beside her reacted. His shoulders tensed, his hand gripped his mug tightly, and his forehead started to glisten and shine against the florescent lights.
“There hasn’t been a werewolf in these parts for years,” the first officer said. “They’re not around anymore.”
“Clearly, at least one of ‘em survived,” Jones said as she slowly walked forward, using the booths as her support. “You can’t kill a werewolf. Not really. If you killed a werewolf, odds are you’d become one.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” the first officer said. “They can too die.”
“You’d need silver bullets to kill ‘em, and you can never take ‘em out,” the old man said. “No sir, no sir. Otherwise, they’ll rise again, and upon the moon they’ll turn again.” She edged closer to the door. “Mark my words. Ain’t a soul safe until the beast has passed, or he’s been killed with silver.” Her hand shook as she put it on the door. “Ain’t a soul safe…”
Joanne felt a chill creep up her arm. She gulped as she shifted her weight in her chair.
“Don’t mind her, she talks like that about everythin’,” the waitress said.
“They’re not real though, are they?” Joanne asked.
“Before you time, but not anymore. There aren’t any of those foul beasts left in the world,” the first officer said. Lawrence shook as he took a sip of his coffee. She caught his eye for a moment, and saw the fear in them.
“Did Jones’ pay?” the second officer quickly asked.
“She leaves her money on the table, every day after she finishes her morning coffee,” the waitress said.
“You okay?” Joanne quietly asked Lawrence. She brushed her shoulder up against his. His entire body jerked, his mug slipped out of his hands, the hot liquid spilling onto the counter and his hands. “Oh my God, I am so sorry.”
“I-I’m fine,” he said. Joanne yanked a handful of napkins free from the silver container they were in and placed them over his hands. The thin, papery material quickly soaked through the material. She looked up at him with wide eyes; terrified she had burned his skin.
“He needs cold water,” the waitress appeared in front of them. “Bathroom is straight in the back. Go. I’ll clean this up.”
“Thank you.” Joanne nodded.
“I’ll take care of it,” Lawrence said as he stood. He cradled his hand, hiding it from the other’s as he quickly found the bathroom.
“Is he alright? He seemed a little shaky,” the first officer asked her. Joanne shook her head.
“I… I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.”
“Vanilla latte, two shots of espresso,” she said. She and the waitress turned their eyes to Lawrence.
“Oh, just a regular coffee. Black.”
The waitress repeated their orders with a tired smile, and then turned to prepare them. The two sat in silence until she returned, two steaming cups in her hand.
“Would you like any sugar?”
“No thank you.” Lawrence shook his head. Both of them took hesitant sips as the waitress left them alone.
“So how’d you end up falling asleep in the middle of the woods?” Joanne asked him.
“Exhaustion, I guess,” he said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t remember much.”
“Oh, one of those nights.” Joanne blushed. She hid her smile behind her cup. “How bad is the hangover?”
“I’ve had worse,” he said, holding the white mug to his lips. Both of them turned their gazes towards the diner door as it opened with a chime. Lawrence fearfully watched as two men in police uniforms walked inside. They removed their hats as they sat at the bar. The waitress immediately pulled up two white mugs and filled them with coffee.
“You’re in early today,” the waitress commented.
“We got called in, there was a murder last night,” one of the officers said. Lawrence tensed.
“Really? Who?”
“Riley Jenkins,” the second officer said. “He was found with his throat torn open. His wife said they heard a ruckus in the chicken coop and he went to investigate. She called it in after she heard him screamin’.”
Lawrence sat his mug on the counter and looked at the black contents.
“Who’d want to kill Jenkins? He was a sweet o’ bastard,” the waitress said. Lawrence’s shoulders tensed. He tightly gripped onto his mug. Joanne watched as she cautiously placed her cup on the counter.
“Don’t know,” the first office said. He took a quick drink of his coffee. “Looked like some giant dog though.”
“It wasn’t a dog,” said a definitive, female voice. Everyone turned their eyes to the back corner. A woman in the back both leaned forward, the light revealing her dark, wrinkled face. “It was a man.”
“Men can’t rip out the throats of other men,” the first office said. He took a drink of his coffee, pretending it had a bitter taste and burned his throat for a different reason.
“They can if they are more than man,” Jones said. She slowly scooted out of her booth at the back table, her bangles and necklaces banging together as she moved.
“What are you suggesting it was then?” the second officer asked.
“A werewolf. Half-man. Half-wolf.”
The officers in the room hardened their eyes. The waitress widened her’s and nearly dropped the pot of coffee in her hand. Joanne tensed, though her eyes were watching how Lawrence beside her reacted. His shoulders tensed, his hand gripped his mug tightly, and his forehead started to glisten and shine against the florescent lights.
“There hasn’t been a werewolf in these parts for years,” the first officer said. “They’re not around anymore.”
“Clearly, at least one of ‘em survived,” Jones said as she slowly walked forward, using the booths as her support. “You can’t kill a werewolf. Not really. If you killed a werewolf, odds are you’d become one.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” the first officer said. “They can too die.”
“You’d need silver bullets to kill ‘em, and you can never take ‘em out,” the old man said. “No sir, no sir. Otherwise, they’ll rise again, and upon the moon they’ll turn again.” She edged closer to the door. “Mark my words. Ain’t a soul safe until the beast has passed, or he’s been killed with silver.” Her hand shook as she put it on the door. “Ain’t a soul safe…”
Joanne felt a chill creep up her arm. She gulped as she shifted her weight in her chair.
“Don’t mind her, she talks like that about everythin’,” the waitress said.
“They’re not real though, are they?” Joanne asked.
“Before you time, but not anymore. There aren’t any of those foul beasts left in the world,” the first officer said. Lawrence shook as he took a sip of his coffee. She caught his eye for a moment, and saw the fear in them.
“Did Jones’ pay?” the second officer quickly asked.
“She leaves her money on the table, every day after she finishes her morning coffee,” the waitress said.
“You okay?” Joanne quietly asked Lawrence. She brushed her shoulder up against his. His entire body jerked, his mug slipped out of his hands, the hot liquid spilling onto the counter and his hands. “Oh my God, I am so sorry.”
“I-I’m fine,” he said. Joanne yanked a handful of napkins free from the silver container they were in and placed them over his hands. The thin, papery material quickly soaked through the material. She looked up at him with wide eyes; terrified she had burned his skin.
“He needs cold water,” the waitress appeared in front of them. “Bathroom is straight in the back. Go. I’ll clean this up.”
“Thank you.” Joanne nodded.
“I’ll take care of it,” Lawrence said as he stood. He cradled his hand, hiding it from the other’s as he quickly found the bathroom.
“Is he alright? He seemed a little shaky,” the first officer asked her. Joanne shook her head.
“I… I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.”