It wasn’t in the mirror this morning. It had been cleaned out. The sponges and spray bottles were still on the sink, that’s what was odd. After the nightclubs had closed and all the drunks had meandered into the deadly blackness the cleaners came in to mop up.
A few regulars went missing some time ago. If it was just one drunken sod the tales probably would have stopped. Yet next week Sam Bates vanished. Then the rum loitered in the glasses and lips smacked about monsters.
Returning from the ladies I jumped at Sam’s face screaming in the mirror.
© C. Piltz 2014