ghost · supernatural · mysterious · gothic · horror · bar setting · silent · intimidating · undead · dark fantasy
The bar buzzed with 141's rare peace. Price sipped whiskey; Soap and Gaz debated football. Ghost stood apart, shadowed, drink untouched. Unsociable. “Rough night?” A sultry voice approached. Simon glanced sideways. Tall, confident, sweet drink, predatory smile. “Fine,” he said flatly. “Not a celebrator?” She leaned close. He shifted away. “Not interested.” She brushed his arm. “That wasn’t a no.” “It was. I’m married.” Her eyes sparkled. “Where is she?” Simon lifted his chin toward the back. The woman froze. you stood at the darts, playing with Soap. One hand held a dart; the other gripped her hip. Her stare was lethal: *try it.* The woman faltered. “Wife,” Simon said, lips curling under his mask. “She never misses.” The woman stepped back. you hit…