Verdigris

Hi everyone!

Today I had an idea for a scene and I had one of those moments where I just had to write it down. I felt crazy, like my head would explode if I didn't type/write/recite this idea that I was having.

Luckily I was out at an SCA Collegia and I had Aimee's notebook and pen nearby! So I wrote down this scene and it turned out okay-ish.

Then, on the drive home, I got to thinking about it and decided that it would be pretty easy to turn it into a Short Story. Like, an actual Short Story with a beginning and a middle and an end. A 100% complete project all in one day. Crazy, I know.

Anyway, two and a bit hours work later and I have a 100% complete all-in-one-instalment Short Story for you to read. It's called Verdigris. It's meant to be a bit creepy (I sure hope I achieved that otherwise it's just gonna seem a bit stupid probably).

So give it a read (please) and then I'd love to know what you think so drop me a comment or message or something if you have some constructive criticism or even if you just want to tell me that the story rocks/sucks.

Enjoy!

♥Nancy♬

Reese McCallum, or Mack, as he was known, wiped down the bar and pulled out a tray of polished pint-glasses, ready for the night ahead. It was Thursday and he expected a quiet night with no more than just the regular patrons. The regulars - big men wearing dusty boots - rocked up at half-past five o’clock and settled down at the table nearest the bar.

 “Mack,” said Joey, who’d been coming to Mack’s Pub ever since it had opened.

 “Joey,” said Mack, with a nod, and grabbed a glass to pull the first beer of the night.

The men relaxed with their post-work beers but Mack kept his place behind the bar. He loved his pub more than anything, except maybe his wife and their baby daughter, and he was proud to stand behind the bar and help entertain the miners after their hard day at work.

 “New tunnel,” one of the men said. He was speaking in low tones and Mack could only pick up a few words. “... collapsed...”

Joey, speaking louder than his work-mates, said, “and they found a creepy chest in there, a huge fuckin’ trunk with patterns and shit carved into it, all made outta copper.”

 “Full of coins,” said another of the men, and Mack had to fight the urge to go closer to listen to the conversation.

 “Ancient artefact,” said one guy.

 “Prob’ly just some stupid kids pulling a prank,” said Joey, and that was that conversation done for the moment.

At seven o’clock, a girl slunk into the pub and sat down in the darkest corner.

 “Evenin’, love,” called Mack to the newcomer.

She didn’t reply.

At eight o’clock a few of the men went home, leaving Joey and one other man as the sole patrons - except for the girl, who still hadn’t said a word.

Joey reached over the bar and grabbed the TV remote. He pushed the “on” button and the TV flickered into life; it was an old set and it made a whining noise the whole time it was awake.

The eight o’clock news came on with its unmistakeable music leading the way and a trained female reporter, Suzie, reading the headlines.

 “There was a minor collapse at Chepali Copper Mine today,” she said.

 “Shut up,” said Joey to his work-mate. Mack polished glasses while they all watched the news report.

 “Authorities say it was unexpected but, fortunately, there were no injuries. In fact, the collapse revealed an old tunnel where something very odd was found. Taylor Newnan was at the scene.”

The scene on screen changed from the sterile newsroom to the dirty entrance to the copper mine. An attractive man in a tailored suit stood next to a gentleman in work duds; they were both wearing hardhats.

 “Taylor Newnan here, for channel twenty-nine news. I’m at Chepali Copper Mine today where something very strange was found after a minor collapse. I’ve got Basil Plik with me, overseer of the mine. Basil, what was found when the collapse was cleared?”

 “A chest,” said Basil, who clearly was not comfortable being on camera.

 “A chest? Can you tell us a little about that chest, Basil?”

 “It was made of copper and it had decorations in copper we don’t know where it’s from or who put it there,” said Basil, in unpausing monotone.

 “And what was in that decorated, copper, mystery chest, Basil?”

 “Copper coins,” said Basil.

 “Thanks Basil,” said Taylor Newnan. He turned to face the camera. “A mysterious copper chest full of mysterious copper coins. Could this be a sign of the Chepali curse come to life? Some say it’s just an urban legend, but others says that mining in the Chepali region was always bound to awaken some dark evil. The truth is yet to be determined. Back to you, Suzie.”

 “Turn that shit off, Joey,” said Mack.

Dark evil? Mysterious copper coins? Who believed in that nonsense?

Joey turned off the TV and took a long drink.

 “You might wanna keep a look out, Mack,” he said, “gotta watch out for the fuckin’ copper monster.” He laughed, a deep belly laugh.

Joey’s friend, a young bloke, spoke up. “My girlfriend believes in the curse.”

 “What?” Joey said, “is she empty up top?” He made a swirling gesture with his finger around his ear.

 “Nah, just superstitious,” said the work-mate, “but she really thinks we shouldn’t be mining up at Chepali. No joke, she told me the creepiest story about cursed copper coins. She’s been researching the mine’s history for a class.”

 “Class? She one of those gone-wild college girls?”

 “She’s just smart,” mumbled the young guy into his pint glass. He didn’t say another word, even when Joey laughed and gave him a friendly clap on the back.

At half-past nine o’clock, Mack served Joey and his young friend their last drinks. He looked over into the darkest corner of the pub where the young girl was still sitting, staring down at the table.

 “Last drinks, love, if you want anything,” he called out.

She didn’t respond. Mack shrugged and wiped down the bar again.

At ten o’clock, Joey and his friend made their way out of the pub. The young guy’s last beer had been one too many and he’d left the bar supported by Joey’s big weight.

 “Night, Mack,” called Joey.

 “Later, Joey,” Mack replied.

The pub was empty now, all except for Mack himself and the girl in the corner. Usually he would have let her stay. There were a lot of reasons why a girl would be alone in the corner of the pub: she could be waiting for someone, she might have had a fight with her parents or her boyfriend and needed some space, maybe it was just warmer inside the pub than out. But tonight Mack just wanted to go home to his sweet, beautiful wife and their little daughter with her tiny fingers and soft skin that smelled like baby powder.

 “I’m closing up now, lass,” he called, “it’s time to go.”

The girl didn’t respond; she didn’t even turn to look at him.

Mack slung his tea-towel over his shoulder and made his way out from behind the bar, heading towards the dark corner of the room. The girl had been in the pub for, what, three hours now? She hadn’t ordered a single bite to eat or a drink or anything. Which was a shame, because as Mack got closer to her he could see that she was very thin and looked almost starved to death. She must be one of those anorexics, he thought, and then thought of his baby daughter and hoped that she’d never think that starving herself was a good option.

 “Hey, miss, it’s time to head home now. Can I call you a cab?”

The girl didn’t move a muscle in response to his words. She just sat there, staring down at her hands on the table.

Mack went closer.

She was holding something in her hands, fiddling with it.

He took a few steps closer, hesitant now in case she had a weapon or was on drugs or something. He realised she was speaking.

 “What’s that, love?” he asked.

But she still didn’t acknowledge his presence, let alone reply.

Mack went closer until he was standing right next to the table. He looked down at her hands. She was holding something large, round and flat. It was a coin, a copper coin, and she was turning it over and over in her hands, never once pausing.

 “Not right,” she was saying, barely loud enough to be audible, “not right, not right...”

Over and over she said it, her voice and hands a matching rhythm. She was young, too, fifteen maybe? She’d looked older from a distance.

Mack knelt down, crouching beside the table.

 “What’s not right, love?”

This time, she heard him.

 “Not right, not right,” she said, the words never stopping, her hands never pausing as they turned the coin over and over, and her head turned slowly towards him.

She looked at Mack, an empty gaze, with eyes the colour of verdigris. Eyes with no white and no pupil. Eyes the exact blue-green of copper patina.

Mack fell over backwards and scrambled away.

The girl didn’t take her eyes off Mack for a second. She continued chanting and turning. Chanting and turning.

The next night was Friday and Mack’s Pub drew a bigger crowd. Or at least, it would have, if it had been open. When the men from the copper mine got to the door of the pub they found the door unlocked but closed off by police tape.

Joey pushed his way to the front of the crowd and snatched up a piece of paper that had been stuck to the front window of the pub.

 “Mack’s Pub,” he read, out loud, “closed until further notice. Reese McCallum, owner and proprietor is missing. Anyone with information please contact the police.”

 “Mack can’t be missing,” someone said.

 “Fuck this,” said Joey, and pushed through the yellow police tape into the pub, leaving his work-mates outside. At first, everything seemed to be ship-shape inside the pub. The bar was spotless, as always; the tables were all organised.

In the darkest corner of the pub, however, Joey noticed something out of place. He went over to the table there.

 “What the fuck?” he said.

There was a copper coin sitting on the table.

In the darkest corner of Mack’s Pub, Joey picked up a copper coin. It was large, round and flat. He turned it over in his hand.

 “There’s something not right about this,” he said, out loud.

He turned the coin over in his hand again.

 “Something not right.”

He turned the coin over in his hand again.

 “Not right.”

And again.

 “Not right.”

And again.