The 1949 Chevy Fleetline roared as they drove down the two lane road, surrounded by forest for miles. Even though it was spring in western Washington, it sure didn’t feel like it. Rain, and then more rain until you didn’t even realize it was doing so anymore. It streaked along the side windows of the car, slowly making their way across in the same direction as the road behind them. It reminded Henry of his small hometown back in Britain while he laid in the spacious backseat. Without the signposting, though, he wasn’t sure if he would even be able to recognize the place at this point. “Who was the contact that gave us the information?” He said to his friend who had been driving, Jeremiah.

The driver looked in the rearview mirror, but was not able to see Henry. “Ya know who, who else knows about werewolves almost as much as you?” He then picked up his makeshift spitter, it was made out of a coke can he just cut the top off of; then doing its namesake.

Temple sighed, closing his eyes before he spoke again. “Arthur?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did he seem of sound mind?”

“What?”

“Did he seem normal when you two spoke?” Henry sat up in his seat, glancing at the endless patterns of trees as they blurred outside the window past them.

“As normal as he usually is.” He then looked at the map that was sprawled over the passenger seat. “Where did you say this damned town was again?”

“That doesn’t help much, considering Arthur.” The Chevy began to drive over a bridge, Henry knew exactly where they were now. “The third right after the bridge will be 54th Street, take that right.”

Jeremiah never understood how he could just know where they were without even looking at the map. He grabbed his can to spit in again; “Alright, how far I gotta be drivin’ ‘till we hit the town?”

“About twelve miles, then we’ll be driving straight into town.”

“Which is?”

“The town of Alder.”

*

After the turn, it was still the same, more rain and mud Jeremiah would have to wash off when they got to greener pastures. The entrance into the town was what to be expected if you considered the name of it. Two Cut and trimmed down Alder trees rose from each side of the road, “Welcome to Alder.” was carved into the third log that rested at the top of the two that stood. It was around 11am, but from how bustling this place was you’d think it was midnight. Not a single person was around, most of the buildings didn’t even have lights on in them. Some even had their front doors wide open.

The driver glanced at what looked to be abandoned buildings as he drove past them. “Uh, hey Henry?”

“Yes, chauffeur?” Said Henry, looking at the same thing he presumed Jeremiah was.

He turned down the radio that had been playing Hank Williams; “How many people lived here again?”

“From the notes you made when you and Arthur spoke. It says the population is 689 people, give or take.”

“Do werewolves tend to take out whole towns?”

“They haven’t in a long, long time. I can tell you that.” Temple then grabbed the back seat that was next to him, pulling it down. When he did, a small table that was put onto a track slid out, having an assortment of weapons and ammo on it. “With a population of almost 700, somebody would have been bound to have escaped if a pack came through.” He undid the Winchester Model 1897’s leather restraints, looking it over. “On top of that, the last time a pack of that size was seen was over 300 hundred years ago.” When he thought about it, the man began to have his doubts about the Werewolf theory.

Jeremiah looked through the rearview mirror, he then sat up straight and changed his voice to sound British; making fun of Henry. “I shudder at the thought, do you not?” He smiled, then began to hunch over the wheel to try to see through the heavy rain. Just before he did, he saw Temple look up from his shotgun into the mirror he was looking at.

“That I do, good sir.” Henry smiled while he loaded shells into the shotgun, before sliding the pump back to chamber a shot. “That I do.”

Right after he said that, Jeremiah slammed the breaks of the car. Which, in turn, made Henry fly forward; smashing into the back of the passenger seat. He yelled; “What the hell are you doing?” He then grabbed his face, hoping he didn’t just break his nose. Henry looked out the front window, now realizing why he had stopped.

In the midst of the violent rainfall, Arthur's car had been parked in the middle of the road by the local gas station. None of the lights were on inside but, Arthur was sitting in their clear as day. He revealed himself presumably when the car had screeched to a halt. On the other side of the street, though, was a bar called “The Burning Stump.” Its lights were on, but dim, very dim. Nobody could be seen through the windows, either.

“Boys!” Arthur yelled from the front door of the gas station. “Boys! Move quick, now! Get in!” He waved at the two as they got out of their car. The rain had motivated them to move much faster than they would have.

After their contact had closed the door behind them after they sprinted in. It became much quieter than the car ride. With the higher ceilings of this place, the rain's constant bombardment was not as prominent.

“What the hell took you two so long?” Arthur said while he wiped off the little rain that had fallen on his black leather jacket that looked a little too big for him.

“We were in California, Arthur. We drove all night.” Said Henry. “What's going on? Why did you park in the middle of the damned road? Are trying to get us all killed'' He saw Arthur’s face change after he said that.

“That- That's the only thing I could think to do when I heard about the town going silent. This was one of my informants stomping grounds before he had a run in with the reaper.” Arthur peered out the window that was in the front door, directly at the lit up pub across the street. “He asked me to keep tabs on his hometown, I obliged.”

“If these really are werewolves, they're very quiet. Also, if a pack this large was on the move. They would have left a blood trail behind them and killed you for coming into this place so carelessly.”

Jeremiah had finally gotten to his feet a moment ago, feeling like chiming in. “The last one large enough to do this and without a peep reaching ears out of town was what, 300 years ago at this point? And that was in Russia.”

Henry was surprised he knew the Russia part.

“I-” Arthur tried to collect himself, “I know it sounds crazy, but maybe there was a den that hadn't been found out here?”

Henry walked up to Arthur now, brushing some more of the rain off his oversized coat. “They adapted to hibernate for hundreds of years as well? I'm not trying to insult you, Arthur. Or pass off your opinion as nonsense” He put a hand on his shoulder. “I just want you to keep your mind open, alright?”

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“Al- Alright Henry, mind open.” Arthur said just before he walked to the cash register; then quickly hopped over the counter. “Anybody want s-s-smokes?” He stuttered when he was nervous, and even for him, it seemed pretty bad today.

“I'm alright, thank you.” Said Henry, “Now, I'm going to see what they have to drink at the bar.” He then handed his shotgun to Jeremiah, “Flash burn shells.” He pointed and pressed against his own sternum, “Aim center mass with those things, and the middle most one of the group. Even if these things aren't Werewolves, it will still stun them enough for you to make your escape.”

“Roger” Said Jeremiah, before racking the wood pump back, and loading a shell into the chamber. Which, in turn, launched the other one that was already loaded out onto the white tiled floor of the gas station. The live round began to glow brighter and brighter. The two that weren't behind the counter turned away from the free shell, covering their eyes and hunching forwards.

Luckily for them, though, it didn't go off. The blast would have lit up half the block before it had dissipated, letting everything from blocks around know where they were exactly, and that they have firepower.

Henry laughed, “Be careful, okay?” He said before leaving the building, the little bell above the door rang as he was walking out. Arthur wanted to object to him doing so but, he knew it wouldn't be of much use.

The rain pelted Henry's jacket while he walked across the main road of the town. The bar, like before, was the only lit building that they could see. Thick streams from the rain ran down the front windows of the bar, distorting the inside of the business which made it hard for him to see anything clearly.

The Burning Stumps sign was worn down, paint peeling anywhere it could from the constant rainfall eight months out of the year in this state. There was a small step to get to the front door, it was pretty slick from the rain too. Henry didn't realize that fact, though, until he almost fell backwards back onto the sidewalk. Only the tall handrail that was next to the closed door had saved him from the weeks of back pain.

He stopped for a moment just outside the bar’s front door. Now he could see much more clearly what was on the other side of the glass. A man stood behind the bar, he could barely make out any features through the constant streams of rain. Just that he had worn a white shirt, and he was holding something and a rag in the other hand. Temple stood there for a moment, trying to think of all the scenarios that could happen as soon as the door opened. He knew that wouldn't do him any good, so, he opened the door with fake confidence and walked into the bar.

A little bell rang above the heavy door when it was opened. Even though the lights were dim, Henry could see most of the bar perfectly. For such a small town, this place seemed a little lavish. It was two stories, looking more like an old saloon. The top floor had two staircases on the walls opposite of each other that led up to it. He could see the entrances to three hallways that led farther back into the building, presumably rooms that people could stay in. Or storage, or both for that matter. Tables and chairs for them lined the main floor, perfectly spaced from each other. About twenty tables with four chairs for each, ten of the tables were on each side of the main walkway. Even with the old wood floorboards being stained, they were still more worn down than the rest of the boards from the constant traffic. When it came to the light source, that was also a surprise to Temple, as they were primarily chandeliers that hung from the tall ceiling. Candles were lit as well, spaced along the heavily decorated walls. Random items from the logging town's history, pictures and old tools were primarily what cluttered the high walls. Random spots were banners of local or major sports teams that had been tacked on the walls, too.

Henry’s heavy boots made the boards below his feet creek and warp with every step he took. He had been overheated almost as soon as he had walked in, instinctually taking off his coat. He placed it on the coat rack just past the front door, looking at the bartender, who was just looking down at the glass he was cleaning.

Henry couldn't see his face too well, just his jawline, mostly. The room was better lit on his side than the bartenders. The man wore a baggy white shirt that had a few undone buttons at the top, a head of hair was hidden under a brown cowboy hat. Temple began to walk at a brisk pace to the bar’s high table, acting like nothing out of the ordinary was going on. After a few steps, he saw that a thin film of dust had revealed itself on all the tables and chairs throughout the room.

“Sorry about the heat, I tend to run colder than most.” Said the bartender, who just finished cleaning the first glass, setting it down somewhere behind the bar itself. He then grabbed another that was identical to the first. “What brings ya to Alder, friend?” The man's voice was deep and scratchy. Like he smoked a carton of cigarettes every day and replaced water with whiskey.

“Even if you run cold, I think this might be a little excessive, sir.” Said Henry, walking towards the man behind the bar. “Any idea what's been going on here?”

“Pardon?” The bartender said, putting the glass he was holding behind the counter, then grabbing another.

“You haven't noticed the lack of customers?”

“Even for being the only bar in town, we still have our slow days.”

“I can tell.” Henry noticed whoever this was, they weren't from Washington from their accent. Actually, he's never heard this person's accent before anywhere. The bartender's monotone voice shook the room with every word they spoke. Like he had been restraining himself. At moments, it even seemed like more than one person had been speaking at once from where he stood.

“Where are you from, friend?” Asked Henry, “It doesn't seem like you're from around here, given your accent.” He said, about to sit at one of the stools of the bar. The man's face was masked in darkness, still somehow. The closer he got to him, the darker that side of the room seemed to get from the man stood.

“How about you take a seat, first drink’s on me. How I always do it when the first customer that arrives past 6pm” The man behind the bar turned around, his hat masked his face to where Henry could only see just below his nose. He smiled, but not showing any of his teeth. “Pick your poison.”

The selection of bottles was impressive to say the least, had to have been a few hundred. Some bottles were old, too. “Are you familiar with older drinks?”

“I'd like to think so.” The man's voice sounded more strained, like he was trying not to raise it for some reason. “Name it, friend.”

Henry just looked at the side of the man's head, still not able to get a good look at him even being this close, and slightly off to the bartender's side. “A Gin Rickey.”

“Ah.” He looked up in a mirror that was at eye level, revealing his face to Henry from the reflection. “I can do that.” The man smirked. For a second, his eyes glowed a bright yellow but were almost transparent, looking more like two large yellow marbles than eyes. Then, the yellow dissipated and they turned to normal brown eyes again. “Gin or bourbon?” He asked, holding his hand above his head, waiting for which bottle to grab.

The two just locked eyes in the mirror, the man still had a smile on his face. Like he wanted Henry to see what had just occurred.

“Bourbon.” Henry said, trying to keep his cool. He's never seen or heard of any creature with eyes like that. Something new, something that wiped out this whole town. Or, has taken them somewhere else. Hopefully the latter, and close.

The bartender set the drink on the top of the bar and slid it to Henry. “Still curious where I'm from, Mr. Temple?” He said, pushing his cowboy hat up a bit then crossing his arms. The man was stocky to put it lightly, could probably tear Henry in half if he wanted to.

“How do you know me?” He held the drink, almost taking a swig from it, but then he looked at it cautiously.

“I didn't do anything to it, and I don't lie.”

“Hm.” Henry said, looking at the Gin Rickey. “Hell, if you were planning on killing me and Jeremiah. You would have already done it.”

“It's true.”

Henry paused, holding the glass a few inches from his parched lips when he said that. He then took a swig, it was perfect; “Thank you.”

“Still curious?”

“As much as I could possibly be. From your eyes, which I've never seen or heard of before. Makes you and your group different. Curious would be an understatement.”

“I appreciate not starting with the threats. The last time we ran into hunters was before the Americans charted all this land for themselves.” The yellow eyed bartender pulled out a cigar from his pocket; “May I?”

Henry waved his hand; “By all means.”

The creature that dressed like a character from an old spaghetti western just nodded before he lit the cigar; “So, ask away, friend.”

“Why are you here?”

“We need to feed, we tend to do so about every 100, 150 years. Depending on how large the prior harvest was.”

“So, this town has become cattle?”

“Not all of them, we have to take our time to get as much as we can out of them all.”

“Why are you telling me this? Why keep us alive?”

“It's tradition.” The man said before he puffed out a big plume of smoke from the cigar.

“Tradition to tell somebody who is a threat to your presence?” Henry was almost done with his drink by this point.

“Precisely. Back when the Natives were more prominent, they would give us one hell of a fight. Wiped out some of our burrows, too.” He pointed to Henry's drink.

“Hm, sure.” He drank what was left of the glass, then slid it back to the mysterious figure. The man started to make a new one even faster than the first. “Do you have a name? Besides the bartender?”

“Friend, I think Bartender will do just fine. This, though, will be the last drink I make for ya. Don’t want your killer instincts getting dulled, fighting is in your nature. I’m assuming that’s why you fought in two world wars.” He slid the refilled glass back to Henry. “Anything else you need to know? Before I take my leave, and we stop being friends.”

“I got a couple more questions.” Henry almost finished the glass in one big gulp.

“Shoot.”

“How do you know me and my other 2 compatriots? Also, is your burrow close?”

“Perfect for the two last.” He grabbed a silver cigarette holder out of his pocket and offered one to his only customer. Henry just nodded, grabbed it, and The Bartender lit it for him with a lighter he had in his pocket. “Firstly, your friend Arthur tends to talk when he’s inebriated and with a good lookin’ blonde. After he gave us names, we asked around, made some calls. That sort of thing.” He took a few more puffs from his cigar. “Secondly, we are close. We tend to create our homes in the middle of the forest. Go north from here, we made sure to leave signs for ya. Trust me on that, we aren't too subtle.”

“Alright.” He smoked almost the whole cigarette by this point, putting it in the ashtray, then standing up. “Anything else I should know.” Henry said, while he put on his jacket, getting ready to leave.

“You don’t need to get too fancy with what you fight us with. Guns, knives, explosives do more than enough.” The Bartender then put on a jacket of his own. “Well, then” He looked back at Mr. Temple one last time with a smile on his face. His eyes turned glassy yellow once again. “Good hunting, Mr. Temple.” The man snapped his fingers, making the four chandeliers and candles go out all at once. The man was gone in an instant, only Henry remained.

Henry just sat in the darkness for a moment, wanting to finish his drink and the last of the cigarette. It began to get cold again like it was outside, even being able to taste the moisture again. When he finished off the glass, he set it down hard on the table and put the bud of the smoke in the ashtray. He just looked around the dark place for a moment; “Alright then.” He said before he got up to grab his coat, then to leave the bar and tell the other two what just occurred.