Avery and Ethan were twin brothers attending college in a small town out in the sticks. It had seemed like a nice place when they’d visited as high school seniors, but after three years spent there, their patience was wearing a bit thin with the place, and they were both eager to finish their senior year and be gone. The town always felt this tension, however, between the college student population which bloomed each fall and died back in the summer, and the farmer and ranchers who remained there the whole year long. Both of the brothers had turned 21 over the summer, and now that they could drink legally, they were stretching their legs a bit–and it was Avery who suggested they go to The Watering Hole, just to see what it’s like.
There were a few unspoken rules in the small town which kept tensions lows between the students and everyone else–one of those rules was that the college kids would keep to the North of town, where the small downtown had been rejuvenated and hipsterized, while the rest of the folks would stick to the southern side, where they had their own set of bars and restaurants–all of them quite a bit cheaper, but with the expectation that students weren’t particularly welcome there. The Watering Hole was one such bar, and Avery had always been curious about it, but that was Avery. While the two were identical in appearance, their temperaments were a bit more varied. Avery was brash, always up for a good prank, a shortcut, and rule bending. Ethan, on the other hand, was quieter, thoughtful, and usually the one who got Avery out of the trouble he inevitably stirred up in his wake.
The bar wasn’t much to look at–just a fairly normal pub, beaten up tables, chairs and booths, a craggy bartender who wasn’t particularly happy to see a couple of students in his bar, but he served them, and they took a seat. The rest of the patrons, mostly cattle ranchers, pig farmers and corn growers, shot them a few dirty looks, but when that wasn’t enough to deter the brother’s they opted to ignore them–all aside from one man, propped up in a corner booth, slouched over, his huge gut propped up on wide thighs, chewing tobacco and staring at the young men…trespassing. It had been a while, he realized, since the students had been…reminded what could happen when you go where you don’t belong. Perhaps, he would make an example of these two, or perhaps not. He watched, making up his mind.
Ethan was bored and suggested they leave, but Avery was disappointed their arrival hadn’t caused more commotion–so he ordered more beer, got drunker, and louder. Everyone ignored him, but the massive man in the corner had made up his mind–an example indeed, he thinks, of that one at least. He gives off a massive, beery belch, making sure the young man notices him, encourages him to notice him, encourages him to think poorly of him. He can see the young man looking over, looking down, sneering a bit. Just you wait boy, just you wait.
Avery kept looking over at the massive, obese farm fuck in that booth, grossed out in one way…and yet obsessed in another way. The man was staring at him with his tiny eyes, glaring really, and Avery met his gaze each time, feeling emboldened each time. Ethan excused himself to go to the bathroom, and as soon as he was gone, Avery knew this was his chance to confront him, to taunt him. He got up and made his way to the back of the pub–the rest of the patrons staring at him and the massive farmer in silence. A few men got up and left, others tore their eyes away and kept them there, as Avery sat down across from the fat farmer and leaned on the table. “What the hell man? You’ve been looking at me all fucking evening. You have a problem or something?”
The man let out a low, snorting laugh, and then heaved himself up into the light. He was…uglier than Avery had thought, and he leaned back a bit. “Oh, silly boy–you think you’re in any control here? In my booth? In this bar? In this town?”
“Oh, I get it–you’re not just a dumb fat fuck, you’re a delusional fat fuck.”
Faster than Avery was expecting, the man lunged over, and with his fat fingers grabbed hold of the young man’s shirt collar and dragged him closer, their eyes inches away. He hadn’t been able to see from across the room but his eyes…they didn’t seem quite…human. He tried to pull himself away, but his body was limp–he couldn’t do anything as the man, snorting and chuckling, undid a front pocket on his overalls and pulled out a small crystal shard. In the light, it shone a brilliant pink between two fat, stubby fingers. “Don’t worry, you won’t remember this in the morning,” the man said, “It’s more fun when you forget, after all.” With one hand, he gave a sharp tug on Avery’s shirt, ripping the front away and revealing his furry chest. Avery kept trying to quirm away as the man pressed the sharp point of the crystal to his left pec, and forced it into him, where he could feel the thing dig deeper into his body. It hurt, and he screamed in pain, throwing himself back against the back of the booth, clawing at his chest, trying to fish the crystal up from the wound which sealed itself up behind it, leaving just a raw scar.
Ethan had emerged from the bathroom, and heard his brother screaming. Everyone in the bar was purposefully paying the noise no attention, but he ran back to the booth, where he found his brother shouting and digging at his chest. “What the fuck did you do to him?” Ethan said to the farmer.
“Don’t think I forgot about you now–come here, and sit on my knee boy. Let me get a better smell of you.”
Bracken's Corner 