Girl’s Night (Short Story)

She liked to keep her apartment cold; it kept her from getting too comfortable. Though sweaters littered the floor, she had neither the intention nor the energy to put them away. They blended seamlessly into the scenery like the dishes in her sink, the tacky posters she kept from her college days, and the pile of unread mail on her coffee table. She flopped onto the couch, which she had splurged on at the local furniture superstore.

“I know you’re a bit young for me, couch, but I think we can make this work.” She let out a little sigh, her eyes wandering over the trash bag full of her ex-girlfriend’s clothes lingering in the corner of her apartment. She could have, and perhaps even should have taken them to the thrift shop months ago, but what was the harm in having a few extra shirts lying around in case of emergency? Maybe she’d need them if she ever encountered a troupe of streakers, or a werewolf who couldn’t keep her wardrobe from going to pieces.

She was about to turn on her TV when her phone buzzed – a text. One of her friends from college had sent a group text about a “girl’s night out,” it seemed.

“First rule of girl’s night out,” she said to an empty apartment, “is that you need more than a day’s notice. Second rule of girl’s night out is that you only go with people you are OK being white-girl wasted with. The final, and most important rule of girl’s night out is that you invite people in a more personal way than a group text.” She tossed her phone onto the couch and turned on the TV.

The TV offered easily digested entertainment; in this way, she never felt bad about not giving it her full attention. She’d happily jump in during the middle of a movie or show, letting the sights and sounds wash over her like the tide. On days when she was particularly spaced out, she would pull up a video of white noise and imagine ocean waves. She could almost taste the salt when she did this. This was not one of those nights, however, and a commercial was belted forth from the TV’s speakers. It was obviously an infomercial; something about a blanket you could wear as a shirt.

“They look like a cult. A very comfortable one, too.” She sighed, picking her phone back up and opening one of her favorite dating apps. They were full of creeps, but she’d scored a few dates, a few laughs, and even a friend or two using them, so she kept them. She hadn’t messaged anyone since her break-up, but that was normal, right? Creepy dudes were more than happy to send her unsolicited pictures, so clearly the world was still turning.

After a few minutes with her TV and phone she announced, “maybe it’s time to get out of the apartment,” moving toward her bedroom to get ready. “How else am I going to start my own blanket cult?”

It wasn’t long before she was out the door. She didn’t have nearly the preparation regime she did in college. She texted back her friend, letting her know that she would be coming. It didn’t hurt that they were going to one of her favorite clubs, “the Mine Shaft.” She had never actually been there, but the name alone sold her on the experience. It also didn’t hurt that it was only a few minutes away. She could even take the bus if she so desired; she didn’t. Of course, the best part about this club was that it was a gay club. This meant that the amount of creepy dudes to hit on her would be dramatically reduced.

When she arrived at the club, there was a line to get in. This wasn’t a good sign, as it could only mean more waiting and awkward socializing before she could shake her booty on the dance floor. She sighed, parking her car. For a moment she considered going home, but she had already gotten this far. Her friends were easy enough to spot, too; they were the only women in line. She was leery that both sides of the line had given them a wide berth. She swore she could see at least a few eye-rolls and heavy sighs in that direction, too. She gulped hard, but still approached. Even if her college buddies sucked, at least she could get in some dancing.

“Des, it’s great to see you!” one of them squealed, noticing her approach.

Des smiled awkwardly as the gaggle of women turned to face her. She quickly became the new center of attention, seven pairs of eyes scanning her from top to bottom. She gave a little bow.

“It’s great to see you all as well. Who’s excited to get some dancing in?” A shrill cheer rose up from the girls, and her eardrums were nearly ruptured. After a mercifully brief round of pleasantries, Des was finally able to step off center stage. The other girls quickly settled back into their own conversations, too, leaving Des to her own devices.

Time crawled by as they waited. One of the girls joked that she was going to hit menopause before they got into the club. Des figured she would throw herself into traffic long before then if she was still here. Des could feel herself traveling back through time as the conversation swirled around her. First, it was the alcohol they were going to down. Then, it was the cute boys they were planning to oggle. After that, it was their celebrity crush. Des could have sworn that she heard a few “goo-goos” and “ga-gas” as they talked about playing house with their boyfriends and husbands. Des really wanted to assume the best of these women; after all, they had gone to college together. Maybe, instead of being werewolves or creatures of the night, they were, “were-basic-bitches,” and would revert back to their regular selves after the spell of the night and the gay club wore off. Des could only hope.

She could see the bouncer eyeing them carefully as they finally approached the entrance to the club. He was tall, muscular, and suave; if not for his greasy hair, crook nose, and gold chains, he could have been on the cover of a romance novel.

He cocked an eyebrow at the motley crew, and held up a hand to stop them from entering the club.

“Lady’s night is on Thursdays. Why don’t you come back next week?”

The girl who sent out the group text, Myra, looked at the rest of the group incredulously.

“He thinks we’re ‘family,’” she said, an obvious smirk on her face. “Well, Des is. Does she have enough gay street cred to get us into the club?” Myra then made a large, sweeping gesture toward Des.

The bouncer and Des shared a look. The bouncer’s face seemed to be a mix of annoyance and pity. He may as well have said, “girl, I am sorry about your friends.”

Des shrugged. They were adults, and she had long since given up on trying to educate them about the LGBT community. It made her question why she had shown up with a posse, though. Being paraded around and pointed to as, “the sassy gay friend,” had gotten old years ago. She almost cut her losses and left the other girls to handle the bouncer on their own, but when she thought back to her frigid apartment and her empty bed, she figured that this trip might still be salvageable.

“They’re with me,” Des said, “and they’ll be on their best behavior, right girls?” Each of the girls looked back at her coyly, each contorting their face to best elicit pity.

The bouncer didn’t respond, instead pulling up his sleeve and showing a gnarly scar that ran the length of his arm.

“I got this from a white girl,” he said with a somber tone. “Des, you seem alright. All the rest of you, though,” he hesitated, pulling his sleeve back down, “the moment you start acting out you’re out of here.” With that, he stepped aside and allowed them entrance.

The club was a sight to behold. The walls were adorned with cheap, plastic light fixtures in a rainbow of colors. The booths seemed to be upholstered with faux-leather from a sickly faux-cow. The bar was long and appeared well-stocked, but there were no seats. Some of the speaker grills on the PA had rips or were covered in what Des could only describe as, “mysterious stains.” If the stains had more of a story than that, she didn’t want to know it.

“You’d think, for a gay club, they’d have better taste,” one of the girls remarked.

Des mentally face palmed; next they’d be making cracks about interior design. To her horror, no sooner than she’d thought it, had it been said.

“I need to use the girl’s room,” Des announced to no one in particular, bolting off before her face could turn any redder.

She found the ladies’ room and stormed in, fighting against every fiber of her being to not slam the door closed behind her. She didn’t remember her friends being so homophobic when they were younger, but then again, she also wasn’t as out then either. She sighed, slipping into one of the stalls and rubbing her temples.

“At least there wasn’t a line for the toilet,” she thought, taking a moment to collect herself. She could still hear the Scorpions pumping through the speakers outside the restroom, but she would be more than happy to give her ears and heart a bit of a break before heading back out into the wilderness. She would have been content to sit in the bathroom for a few more CD’s worth of the 80s greatest hits when she heard it: Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like the Wolf.” It was one of her favorite songs, and she was determined to be on the dance floor for it.

She marched out of the bathroom toward the dance floor, but stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the last thing she expected: a goddess on the dance floor. She was lithe like a dancer. She was strong like a lifter. She had left half of her hair at the stylist’s. She was even dancing in a way that said, “I take no prisoners.” Des was smitten. A small part of her wanted to throw herself into the mystery woman’s arms, mouth, “take me,” and see where the night went. Having slightly more common sense than that, however, she simply danced in that direction. She had played the game enough to know that jumping the gun so handily would make her appear more unhinged than desirable.

She shimmied and danced her way through, “Hungry Like The Wolf,” mentally congratulating herself for wearing black v-neck shirt. It was simple, elegant, and hid the fact that she was sweating up a storm in the packed club. The club was so packed that even after the song finished she had only made it half way to her dream date. Any illusions she had about the proverbial seas parting so she could walk to her new love were dashed as she squeezed by yet another couple. Given the circumstances, the Footloose-inspired dance scene she was imagining between her and the mystery woman would also need to wait. Any attempt to spin that radically would be more likely to result in a mosh pit than a crowd of applauding, conventionally attractive onlookers.

Soon enough, though, she was within spitting distance of the beauty that had entranced her. Though she was keeping up with the rhythms being blasted in her ears, her heart was doing double-time. She hadn’t been this excited about meeting someone since her chance encounter with Anna Kendrick.

She was about to step up and introduce herself, or at least communicate as much as was reasonably possible in such a loud environment, when she fell square on her face. It might have been funny if it didn’t also mean she had to land face-first onto the dance floor of a dingy club called, “The Mine Shaft.” Ouch.

She was ready to die then and there when she remembered that she was a grown-ass woman, and taking pity on yourself in a club this crowded was more likely to get you trampled than sympathy. She sprung back to her feet, and noticed the mystery girl had seen the entire thing. Des blurted out the first thing she could think of to address her clumsiness.

“Mom always said I should have been an accountant, but I knew I was meant to dance.” With that and a wink, the girl’s face went from a smirk to an outright giggle.

“Smooth moves. What’s your name, moonchild?”

“Des. How about you?” The moment was undercut somewhat by the fact that they were shouting at each other, but at least she’d made it to where she wanted to be.

“Evaline, but all my friends call me Eve.”

“Another proud member of the one-syllable name club, eh?” Des said without a hint of irony in her voice.

“Yeah. It makes it easier for people to say my name when they’re out of breath.” Eve winked at Des, causing her to blush. Her face could’ve made a beet jealous.

“A shy one, I see. May I have this dance?” Eve cooed, offering a hand to Des. Des made a little curtsy before taking Eve’s hand.

“With pleasure, but you should know I have a black belt in interpretative dance. My hands, feet, and forehead are all registered as deadly weapons.”

Eve let out a full-belly laugh.

“That’s a good one, Des. If we get attacked by movie ninjas, I’ll be sure to sick you on them.”

Des’ face lit up. This was the most fun she’d had in weeks, and she was in the arms of a beautiful woman. The lights of the club danced across Eve’s face as they danced to the music. She looked both intensely focused and carefree. If Des joked about being a dancer, Eve was the real deal. She always seemed to be in lock-step with the music, and a happy little smirk never left her face. After only a handful of songs, Des felt like she could melt into puddle; Eve, on the other hand, looked like she was only getting started.

“Eve. I. Need. A. Break.” Des stammered, gulping in big breaths. She motioned to one of the faux-leather booths, and hoped against all hope that Eve would join her.

After pushing through the crowd with surprising speed, Des collapsed into one of the booths. It took a titanic effort to not just lay down; instead, she sat up, and looked out onto the dance floor. To her dismay, Eve had not followed her. Des toyed with the idea of trying to find Eve on social media, or maybe even on one of her dating apps, but she figured it would be better to catch her breath first.

Des’ heart had just about returned to a human speed when a shadow hovered in her peripheral vision. She looked up hoping to see Eve, but saw Myra instead. She let out a, “fuck,” under her breath, and hoped that Myra wasn’t a good lip reader. Or maybe, she hoped Myra was. Though she’d been having a good night on balance, Myra and her crew had not helped.

“It looks like you were having fun out there, Des.” Myra said, a gentle smile on her lips. “Are you having fun?” she asked, sliding into the booth across from Des.

“No complaints on my end, Myra.”

“It’s good to see you again, Des. How long has it been since we last had a girl’s night?”

Des didn’t bother to rack her memory.

“Probably a few years,” Des offered, shrugging.

“I hope you can make it out to more stuff. We’ve missed you, you know?” Des sank into her seat; she couldn’t imagine any of the girls missing her, despite her obvious dashing looks and quick wit. She smiled weakly.

“It has been a while, hasn’t it? What can I say,” Des said, hesitating. “We all seemed to go our own way after college.”

“You could say that again,” Myra offered. “I’m going to get back on the dance floor, but I hope to see more of you, Des. I know some of the girls would love to talk to you about their businesses. Jen has been making a killing with Mary Kay, but she could always use advice from someone as sharp as you.”

Des’ jaw dropped as Myra got up and walked away. Had this whole thing been a long-con to get her into a Mary Kay meeting? She’d seen on social media how some of the girls had been hard-up for work, but this was on another level. Her mind spun into gear, trying to imagine what could have led her friends down that path. She knew the economy was tough, but they all graduated from a state school with good degrees. Maybe they did it for the thrill? Maybe they did it for the sales experience? Whatever they did it for, Des wanted no part in it.

“Mission control to moonchild. You there, Des?”

Des snapped out of her trance and looked up. Eve was standing there, holding two tall glasses of ice water.

“You’re a saint,” Des blurted out, reaching out for one of the glasses.

“Heh, you think one of these is for you.” Eve pulled the water back playfully.

“You monster! How could you?” Des said, half-joking, pulling her hand back and making her best pout.

“It’s all good, Des. They’re both for you. After I saw you turn into a puddle, I figured it was the least I could do.”

“You’re a saint!” Des chimed, chugging one of the glasses after snatching it from Eve. She sipped the second one much more slowly; she didn’t want to spend the rest of the night feeling bloated.

“I’d offer you a towel, but I’m a dancer not a personal trainer. Speaking of which, when was the last time you went to the gym?”

Des grunted. “With all due respect, that’s not a conversation for polite company.” Eve sat down next to Des in the booth.

“Who says I’m polite?”

Des wanted to pull at the collar of her shirt and let out some steam, but she figured that might be a bit too cartoonish, even for her.

“If you must know, the gym and I are seeing other people at the moment. We’re not on good terms after,” Des paused for dramatic effect, “the last time I visited.”

“Did you pull every muscle in your body?” Eve offered.

“Basically,” Des said. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

“I’m not one for gyms either, but my dancing keeps me in pretty good shape. Would you care for another dance, Ms. Black Belt? If you can survive this, maybe we can even make a habit of it.”

“Only if you don’t try to sell me makeup.” Des said, standing with Eve.

“What?” Eve said, looking puzzled.

“Nothing.” Des said, walking with Eve toward the dance floor, a smile widening on her lips.

As they walked back out onto the dance floor, Des noticed something incredibly strange. One of her friends was making out with one of the club’s patrons. They were really going at it, too.

“That’s interesting,” Des said, nudging Eve and motioning toward the scene. Instead of a witty response, though, Eve stopped dead in her tracks.

“Des, I don’t want to alarm you, but things are about to get gnarly. Get out of here if you can. Get to a booth if you can’t.”

Des turned to look at Eve, but Eve was already steps away from the pair. Des glanced back at the girl, and then at the boy. He was growing increasingly pale, wobbling on his feet. Des couldn’t help but notice that he looked more and more like he belonged in a retirement home. She squinted, inching forward to try and better assess the situation.

Next, she saw Eve empty a coin purse. An unreasonable amount of loose change found its way to the dance floor. No one else noticed, but the girl was transfixed. The girl’s eyes burned bright with desire. The girl relinquished the boy-turned-senior-citizen, and was on the ground counting the coins.

“Jesus, you can’t be that hard up for cash, can you Jen?” Des mused. “I know the drinks here are expensive, but have some self-respect.”

A breath later, Eve had taken off her belt, which was a shimmering, vibrant white. She wrapped it around Jen’s neck, and led her toward the back exit of the club. For being as straight as an arrow, Jen looked oddly complacent. Eve had also put on a, “come hither,” look for Jen, and the few folks who had seen her disrobing had since looked away. By the end of the chorus, Eve and Jen had slipped into the night. Des rushed after them, sparing only a quick glance at the husk of a man barely standing on the dance floor. With nowhere near the same level of finesse or subtlety, Des also found herself in the back alley behind the club.

“What the fuck is going on?” she blurted, before being stunned into silence by Jen’s head being separated from her body.

“Vampires.” Eve said, not missing a beat. “I told you this was going to get gnarly, Des.” Eve pulled a cigarette from her back pocket and lit it, taking a long drag. “If you want to be a real champ, help me get this body into the dumpster.”

In response, Des fell firmly on her ass, her face turning into a blank stare.

“H-how could this happen?” she murmured, covering her mouth with a hand.

“Because you wrote bad fan fiction in High School and you touch yourself at night,” Eve shot back. Then she sighed, lowering her head and massaging the bridge of her nose with her left hand. “I know that’s not a fair thing to say. We were all new to this once. At this point, though, you’ve seen beyond the veil. From here, it is your choice whether you disappear into the night and pretend this never happened, or you help a girl out and toss this trash into the dumpster.”

“How do I know you didn’t just kill my friend in cold blood?” Des said quietly, her eyes still 1000 yards away.

“Simple. First, there’s our newly geriatric friend in the club. Apparently your friend wanted a late-night snack and figured she could get away with it. Second, there’s the coins. What normal person stops to pick up coins in the middle of a club?”

“A hard working girl who is having trouble paying for her drinks?” Des said, hopefully.

“No. A vampire.” Eve said. “Didn’t you read up on mythology as a kid? That’s basic info.”

If Des was hurt by the accusation, her face didn’t show it. She had much larger concerns at the moment.

“Third, is my belt.” Eve laid it on some of Jen’s bare skin, and Des could hear and smell flesh burning. “It doesn’t work on the stronger ones, but this one must’ve been pretty low on the totem pole. If that doesn’t convince you, I don’t know what will.”

This, finally, brought Des back to her senses. She walked over to where Eve was pushing the body into the dumpster and helped give a final shove.

“Won’t someone find the body?” Des said, panic creeping back into her voice. “Won’t the police find the body?” she asked, her eyes darting around looking for witnesses.

“It’ll be ash before anyone finds it,” Eve said, tossing the remains of her cigarette into the dumpster, igniting a small fire. Des’ jaw dropped. “Anyway, we should go. There’s no telling if other vamps are on the prowl tonight, let alone if any saw our little escapade. At the very least, let me take you home.”

“D-don’t you think that’s a little forward,” Des said, blushing deeply, her lizard brain getting the first crack at this new turn of events. For the second time that night, Eve let out a full-belly laugh.

“Don’t worry, moonchild. I promise I don’t bite.” Eve said, throwing her arm around Des. “I can even sleep by the door if that’s your speed. There’s just one thing…”

“You like to sleep with socks on?” Des interjected.

“No, you weirdo.” Eve said, her face screwing up before turning gravely serious. “I can be gone in the morning, or I can stick around. If I stay in your life, things are going to get messy. I can’t offer you a mind wipe or brain bleach, but I give you a trinket or two that will keep you safer than most. It’s your call.” Des didn’t answer right away, trying, mostly in vain, to process the night’s events.

“I’m in,” said Des quietly. “If these monsters are hurting people, and especially if they’re hurting my friends, they need to be stopped.”

Eve’s lips curled back into a subtle smile. “Alright, but let’s talk again tomorrow morning, just in case.”

Des wrapped her arm around Eve’s waist and led her to her car. She could hear the sounds of sirens as she drove into the night.

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Word Count: Approximately 4,300

Author’s Note

• I penned this story for a workshop back in 2018. My goal at the time was to write a story that combined horror, action, and comedy with a few sprinkles of folklore on top. Looking back, I think I really only succeeded with regards to the comedy. With that said, I wouldn’t mind taking another crack at this story. My partner has even encouraged me to turn it into a more long-form work (a novella / novel). I’m not ready for that yet, but as the old saying goes, “never say never.”