A Night in the Red Coyote

NOTE: This story is currently being heavily edited, and might be made into a chapter of an overall novel. FSM knows I need to begin actual work on a longer story, and this seems like it might be fun to add to; not to mention that it will encourage me to do more research on occult-related material ("occult" meaning "mythology", really; I want to use more "real world" elements in my stories!)

If you read this, keep in mind that this was the 24-hour "cram job" for a contest, and a lot of it is being edited; not much of the overall concept, but the ending and mummy will be much different in novel format. A bit more serious, pretty much.




The door opened to the Red Coyote bar, a gust of wind entering on the cold autumn breeze. In stepped Alicia, dressed in a smart blue suit and tie with a skirt cut at just below knee-length, accentuated with black open-toed high heels and two earrings, both shaped like an ankh, dangling from her ears. Her hair was raven-black, curly, and free from any kind of tie down to her shoulders. Her eyes were the green of a watercress leaf.

Alicia sat at a table, far from where the examples of humanity were sitting. After a while, a woman in a tank-top walked over to Alicia, smiling her canned smile, and asked Alicia if she wanted something to drink. Alicia smiled back her own canned smile and said she didn’t. The waitress bothering Alicia was understandable; that was her job. The man with the over-oiled hair and stink of overly applied aftershave that followed her visit was not.

“What’s your sign?” he asked with an irritating grin.

“Do not disturb,” replied Alicia without even looking in his direction.

“Hey, come on, darlin’, don’t be like that…” began the man in the most irritating voice, as if to spite her further.

“Tell you what,” said Alicia, suddenly adopting a more charming tone of voice and a small smile. “Give me your hand, and I’ll show you my sign.” She picked up her purse, putting it on the table, and took out a red sharpie from it.

The man was intrigued and held out his hand to her. She proceeded to draw a strange symbol and some letters in a mix of greek and latin.

“What’s that mean?” asked the man curiously as he admired the symbols.

“It’s a curse.”

“What? Your sign is a curse?”

“Nah, it’s become your sign now.”

“What?” he asked, looking at her with a confused expression. Then the sign started to light up an unnatural glow, and he screamed and grabbed his hand.

“May your children die young,” said Alicia, waving him away and not looking in his direction as he fled the bar in the most wise of fashion.

“You witch!” he screamed out loud as he fled, possibly thinking of that particular word that rhymes.

“You bet,” replied Alicia with a sly grin.

She then stood and walked over the bar, sitting before it. Those watching the spectacle were all the more surprised when a mug floated into the air and below a tap that turned on with a mysterious force. A mysterious voice appeared in the direction of the floating mug.

“You know, you didn’t really have to do that.”

“I know. It was fun.”

“What did you curse him with, really?”

“Erectile dysfunction and genital herpes.”

“You witch.”

“You bet.”

At this point, many uncomfortable people started to leave. The bartender of the night walked up to the two with great caution. Alicia regarded him curiously.

“Look… uh… it’s closing time now…”

“No it’s not,” disputed Alicia coolly. “You close at one o’clock in the morning. It’s currently eleven o’clock at night.”

“Yes, but… uhm... well, it’s a special day today.”

“Sure it is, for those that want curses,” she said with a grin towards him. The man took a step back and made a scared sound, before she gestured with her head to the door. “Beat it, I’ll keep shop for you.”

“Hey, you can’t do that…”

“You want to stay?”

“I’ll just get my coat.”

“Wise.”

Alicia pulled out of her purse a pack of cigarettes. The door opened half an hour after all the other customers had fled.

The mummy walked over to Alicia, scowling down at her from her sitting position. She always found mummies to be amusing when they tried to be intimidating. Egyptians were not exactly famous for their height, and a raw untouched animate mummy was simply a zombie with no organs and a propensity for believing in animal-headed gods.

The mummy sat next to Alicia, sighing from non-existent lungs, before speaking with non-existent vocal cords. “Never could scare you, could I?”

“Nope. What’s up, King Tut?”

“I told you before, I’m not…”

“Get a sense of humor. I still don’t care which god-king wannabe that got the wrong form of afterlife you are. Besides, King Tut is much better than ‘Bob’.”

“Hey, I had to think quickly, and my disguise was…”

She grinned and interrupted him with an action; her pursue was up on the table, her hand going inside. The mummy followed her action intently.

“You have it?”

“Yep, my toilet-paper zombie friend.” Alicia pulled out a gold collar, depicting Horus, the Egyptian sky god. She handed it to the mummy, who looked at it from the front and the back, as if unable to believe what he held in his hands.

“Did you inscribe the writing in the back?” he asked, suddenly suspicious. “It’s not hieroglyphic.”

“The old glyphs had faded,” she said with a shrug. “But no, I did not. Another did that. It’s in Greek, and it means that the bearer of the artifact can make his own wish come true.”

The mummy reached out a hand, clasping her hand in it and shaking it up and down with force; which really isn’t much. “Thank you! How can I repay you?”

“Let go of my hand, for one,” she said. He quickly did so, looking embarrassed (not that a face that desiccated could show much, but the overall body language pointed it out). Then she reached up, tearing off a strip of the linen that bound his body. “Mummy wrappings are big in my business,” she explained. “Now good luck getting your Ka and Ba from your body!”

“Thank you!” he said, before nearly running out of the door.

“Nice job, Alicia,” said the ghost, getting her another beer.

“I know it, hubby,” she replied with a smile. Another day in the job of Alicia Fisher, Supernatural P.I.; you need it, she’ll find it.