Aoi stared at the shadow in the mirror, but with a blink, it vanished.
Her heart thumped in her throat. The gap between the bottles on the shelf was just darkness now, nothing more.
She took a deep breath, gripping the glass she was polishing. At four a.m., Chronos felt heavier, the air thick and stagnant. The fluorescent lights flickered more insistently, and the room seemed to grow colder.
Aoi slipped the earring from her apron pocket, holding it under the counter's dim light. The silver ring's thorn-like engravings glinted as if alive. Touching it, a sharp prick stung her finger, a bead of blood welling up. She wiped it with a handkerchief, but a drop hit the counter. The wood grain stirred, drinking it in.
She gasped, scrubbing the spot with a rag. No trace remained.
A new customer settled at the counter's edge. A young man, early twenties, gaunt in a black hoodie. His long hair veiled his face, only his eyes peering out. Silver rings gleamed on his fingers, his nails unnaturally long.
Without glancing at the menu, he whispered, "Something strong. Doesn't matter what."
Aoi chose a rum-based cocktail, tossing ingredients into the shaker. As she shook, that grinding scrape echoed again. Ignoring it, she poured and slid the glass to him.
He took a sip, flashing a grin. His teeth were unnervingly sharp.
"I like this place. The thicker the night, the more things it draws in."
Aoi forced a smile, his words echoing the blonde woman's from the night before.
Wiping the counter, her eyes flicked to his rings. They bore the same thorny pattern as the earring. A chill seized her, and she looked away.
By four-thirty, the bar was nearly empty.
Yamazaki was in the back, hunched over ledgers. Alone at the counter, Aoi checked the sink. The metallic stench from the drain was sharper now, the gurgling relentless. Shining a flashlight, she glimpsed something glinting in the depths—a slender, bone-like shape.
She reached for it, then stopped herself. Instead, she ran the water. For a moment, the bone-like thing surfaced, then vanished down the drain.
Back at the counter, her thoughts drifted to the wooden box—the photo, the notebook.
Before Yamazaki could return, she darted to the backroom, pulling the box from the shelf. She opened the notebook. The inked words were still illegible, but a red stain, like blood, bloomed at the page's edge.
Picking up the photo, she studied the pale faces. They seemed to resemble last night's customers, the man from tonight—their skin too white, eyes too bright. She shoved the photo back, clutching the notebook as she returned to the counter.
The door creaked.
Turning, she saw the blonde woman again, now draped in a black coat, her face even more waxen. She slid onto a stool, smiling.
"You've got my earring, don't you? I'd like it back."
Aoi's hand went to her pocket, fingers closing around the earring. An urge to keep it gripped her. She hedged, "Lost items go to the manager."
The woman's smile froze. Tapping her glass, she murmured, "Lying's not nice."
Aoi faltered, her hand trembling around the earring. When the woman left, another paper scrap remained, marked with the warped star symbol. Aoi tossed it in the trash, hiding the notebook under her apron.
At five a.m., her shift ended. Yamazaki emerged from the back, eyeing her.
"You look rough. Night shifts hit hard, huh?"
She nodded, slipping out with the notebook concealed.
Outside, the fog was thick, streetlights glowing faintly. On her way to the dorm, she opened the notebook. As she turned a page, the ink seemed to writhe, the symbols twisting, coiling toward her fingers.
She screamed, dropping it. When she reached to pick it up, the notebook melted into the fog.
That night, in her dorm, sleep wouldn't come.
She set the earring on her desk, staring. Its thorny pattern pulsed with light. Gripping it, she glanced out the window. In the fog, a figure stood—pale face, sharp teeth. The man from the bar. But her room was on the third floor.
Aoi yanked the curtains shut, crushing the earring in her fist. Blood seeped from her palm, but she felt no pain.
The next shift.
Aoi trudged to the bar, each step down the stairs heavier than the last. At the counter, Yamazaki polished bottles. Mustering her courage, she asked, "This place—did something happen here? Strange rumors, maybe?"
He lit a cigarette, exhaling smoke. "Rumors are a dime a dozen. Don't sweat it. Night work means dealing with the dark."
Aoi nodded, glancing at the mirror. Behind her reflection, a shadow swayed—clear now, not human, a writhing black mass.
She spun around. Nothing.
In the mirror again, the shadow stretched, brushing her shoulder.