Aoi froze, transfixed by the black shadow in the mirror.
Its movement, brushing her shoulder, felt like cold fingers slithering across her skin.
She spun around—nothing. The bottles on the shelf stood silent, the flickering fluorescent lights the only sound piercing the bar's hush.
Steadying her breath, she gripped the counter. At one a.m., Chronos buzzed with patrons, but Aoi's mind was ensnared by the shadow.
The notebook dissolving into the fog, the crushed earring, the man outside her window—her thoughts churned.
She checked her apron pocket. The earring was gone, leaving only a faint ache in the small cut on her finger. Glancing at the counter's grain, she swore the spot that had swallowed her blood yesterday glowed faintly red.
A new customer appeared. A woman in her forties, clad in a sharp black suit, her cropped hair lending a severe edge. Her face was pallid, her lips an unnatural crimson.
She claimed the counter's center, ordering without a glance at the menu. "Martini, dry."
Aoi mixed gin and vermouth in the shaker. The grinding scrape echoed again, the shaker unnervingly heavy. Pouring the martini, she handed it over. The woman held the glass but didn't drink, staring into it. Then her eyes pinned Aoi.
"You've seen this place's darkness, haven't you?"
Aoi faltered, forcing a smile to deflect.
The woman set the glass down, dragging her long, black-painted nails across the counter. The wood seemed to shudder under her touch. When she left, her lipstick stained the glass—not red, but a seeping black.
At two a.m., the bar's clamor peaked.
Aoi kept mixing, but the strangeness wouldn't relent.
Slicing a lime, the knife slipped again, carving a deeper gash in her finger. Blood dripped onto the counter, the grain drinking it in. This time, the blood writhed within the wood, tracing a pattern—a star, like the one on yesterday's scrap of paper. She scrubbed it with a rag, but the shape wouldn't fade.
A glance at the mirror revealed the shadow again, clearer now. A writhing, elongated mass stared back from the glass's depths.
Aoi tore her eyes away, focusing on orders. But each shake of the cocktail mixer amplified the grinding, as if something inside clawed to escape.
By three, the crowd thinned, and silence cloaked the bar.
Aoi slipped to the back to check the freezer. Opening the door, the damp earth smell hit her, stronger now, and the shadow stirred in the dark.
This time, she didn't run. She aimed her flashlight. The beam caught the shadow, and for a moment, it took human form—a pale face, the man from yesterday. No eyes, just a gaping mouth.
Aoi screamed, slamming the door. The freezer rattled, as if something pounded from within.
Back at the counter, Yamazaki smoked, unfazed. Aoi's voice trembled. "There's something in the freezer. Something's there!"
He exhaled smoke, smirking. "You're digging too deep, kid. This place? It's got a deal with the night. See too much, and it drags you in."
His words sparked anger in Aoi, but before she could retort, another customer entered—the blonde woman. Shedding her black coat, her red dress gleamed under the lights. She sat across from Aoi, whispering, "You didn't return my earring. That makes me mad."
Aoi, recalling the crushed earring, fumbled for words. The woman laughed and ordered a cocktail.
Shaking the mixer, the grinding exploded, the shaker heavy as stone in her hands. When she opened it, black liquid poured out, spreading across the counter, coiling into the star pattern. The woman watched, smiling with satisfaction.
"See? The night's calling."
Aoi tried to wipe it away, but the rag sank into the counter, swallowed.
She stumbled back, glancing at the mirror. The shadow now enveloped her reflection, her face pale, eyes unnaturally bright. She screamed, tearing her gaze away.
At four a.m., the bar was empty.
Yamazaki vanished into the back, leaving Aoi alone. She stared at the counter's grain. The star pattern pulsed, alive. Grabbing a knife, she tried to scrape it off. The moment the blade touched the wood, the counter quaked, flinging her hand back. The knife clattered to the floor, its metallic ring echoing.
The door creaked. No one entered, but footsteps approached. Aoi turned—nothing. In the mirror, pale-faced figures lined up, yesterday's customers, whispering in unison:
"Return to the night."
Aoi clapped her hands over her ears, crouching behind the counter. The wood grain snaked around her fingers, pulling. She fought, but its strength was unnatural. In the mirror, her reflection was gone, replaced by a writhing black shadow.