"Welcome to The Morgue. At 5 pm, we serve tea. In the evening, different drinks."
Kelly glanced at the barmaid. The nightclub, hosted in a deconsecrated church, was freezing cold, but the girl, ghastly pale with naked shoulders, seemed unaffected.
"It's midnight now."
"And that's champagne o'clock, sweety."
The girl poured and Kelly took a sip. It tasted like champagne, bubbles and everything. Only the colour wasn’t right. Carmine red.
"Where?"
"In Hell."
The barmaid's face became opalescent, her eyes glaring white. The flute morphed into a snarling serpent, fangs plunging into Kelly's wrist, blood-like tears on its snout.
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Stone Jaws by Evan Baughfman"
class="motion-reduce"
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width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Mannequin People by Michael J. Stiehl"
class="motion-reduce"
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>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Gator by Randall Andrews"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
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>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Rude Awakening by Richard Lau"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>