Sean Houston's Day Off
A rare slow day for the supernatural investigator.
Sean placed his empty pint glass on the counter with a firm “thunk”. Denton wordlessly removed the glass, wiped down the bar, and placed another dark pint on a coaster in front of Sean. The Forest Tavern is Sean’s go-to spot to get a drink, a bite, and help with his more difficult cases from the retired monster hunter Denton Carrol. The bar was quiet that evening, save for Sean and a pair of patrons watching the Commanders game.
The Forest Tavern is named for the location, and a need. When Plunkett was being founded, there quickly rose a thriving logging industry. Wanting to claim open space to operate their trade, loggers came in before even an inn was built. While the work was plentiful the loggers had no place to sleep or eat, or more importantly, drink.
During the next month the logger worked in their off time to build a space to keep out of the elements. Once the building was built some of the loggers brewed their own brew to share. Over the years the humble drinking shack expanded into a proper tavern with multiple beers, a bar, and hearty food made to fill the bellies of hungry loggers. They never named it, but the first business license went with an apt name based on what built the tavern; the local forest.
Now, The Forest Tavern was a primary watering hole for all types; farmers, college students, commuters from the larger Northern Virginia cities, and tonight, one reluctant supernatural investigator, Sean Houston.
Sean drained his pint glass of dark lager, clanked the glass on the bar, and groaned. Denton wordlessly moved the empty glass to a coaster. Sean sniffed.
“Denton, how is it this town of just under 30,000 has so much weird shit going on? I’m carrying on Dad’s practice instead of-Hell, I don’t even know. Have you ever been stuck with something you didn’t want?”
Denton grunted as he replaced the empty glass with a pint glass of water. Sean took a large gulp, wiped his lips as he placed the water on the bar next to the coaster.
“Yeah, I feel that.” Sean looked over, observing two men in dirty overalls watching the Commanders game. They were quietly celebrating a touchdown. “Why couldn’t I do that? Work with animals, in the dirt, wearing heavy, comfortable clothes. That seems great.” Sean drained his water glass and placed it on the bar with a clank.
Denton, once again, moved it to the provided coaster. He sniffed as he wiped out a pitcher. Sean continued to lament.
“No, instead I’m looking into missing children cases where the culprit is some ghostly thing that fades through walls. Or why pets are going missing and it turns out to be some Bigfoot knockoff.”
Sean fell silent for a beat. He stared at the bar, his head beginning that familiar fuzzy feeling of inebriation.
Denton filled the silence with a word.
“Apparition.”
Sean blinked at Denton. The bartender was finished cleaning the pitcher and placed a fresh dark lager on Sean’s coaster. Denton leveled his pale gray eyes at Sean.
“Those ghosts are called ‘apparitions’ and they phase through walls, not fade. They maintain their visual appearance but hide within physical objects. Also ‘Bigfoot’ is a nickname, if you want to be correct the thing allegedly eating pets was a Sasquatch knockoff. Though it could be a member for the genus, but a different species. They also don’t typically eat living things, and especially not kept animals. Too fatty. They prefer fish or small game in the wild.” Denton looked at his knuckles, a collection of faded scars telling a long story.
Sean blinked again, glancing at the men at the end of the bar. They were not paying any attention to the conversation. Sean looked at Denton, who often wore a gruff expression, had a hint of softness.
“Kid, whether you want to do this job or not, you’re good at it. Damn good. Guys like me, we have to -had to, anyway- train to hone whatever skill we have. But your dad, he took to the world of the weird like a fish to water. And you’re every bit your old man in that regard. Though you bitch a lot more than he did.”
Sean stared at Denton. Even when Sean would come in to get tips for whatever supernatural thing he was battling, Denton only ever said ten words at most. Now he was getting a whole speech about his work and the part is dad played in the weirdness of Plunkett. Sean pinched his wrist to check if he was asleep.
“What the hell, Denton? If you’re retired why do you still care about Bigfoot genus?”
“Sasquatch,” Denton corrected. “and I care because not everyone in this town knows about the weird stuff. Which means they don’t get a choice in what happens in the shadows. We’re in that weirdness, we have to know so we should be correct about it. We do get a choice. It’s like that Spider-Guy my nephew likes so much. Power means responsibility, or something like that.”
Denton pushed the beer towards Sean. “You dad liked dark lagers too. We would work through a full case of beer when trying to figure out how to bring down a pack of werewolves, or stop the latest traveling vampire looking for a meal. Though he did most of the thinking.” Denton looked down at his scarred knuckles again. “I was never much for talking. More so the fighting.”
Sean sipped his beer, now sobered and sheepish. “Denton, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” He was cut off my Denton waving a hand.
“Forget it, you can make it up to me by paying your tab and taking a sandwich home. Lonnie made some extras when she saw you come in.”
Sean sipped at his beer and watched the Commander game, the fuzziness in his head fading as he grappled with the life lesson he just received. He didn’t know what the future held, except for a huge turkey sandwich.