Tales from the Milkwood Lounge: An Introduction

*Note from the author: Although it will be much rarer than my Dear America series, I intend to leave behind some short stories I have been working on and writing. This article is my introduction and a taste to stories to come. Enjoy!

You find yourself in a dark abyss in which only a dull hollow ringing can be heard as smoothly cut obsidian caresses your bare feet. There are no stars here, as you’re not in space. No fish to be seen either, as you’re not underwater. Perhaps you are underground, but this is not clear. What is clear is that you know you don’t belong here. No one belongs here, and yet here you are.

You wander for a time, hoping to catch a glimpse of something. Perhaps the calming comfort of light or the warmth of something soft. These sensations escape you, but to stay where you are would mean to surrender to the darkness that has engulfed you.

It is after a great deal of wandering that something catches your eye. A faint, orange glow to your left. You turn and see what is unmistakably a square-shaped, two-story bar made of red brick with a neon sign that reads “The Milkwood Lounge.” A rusty fire escape hangs from its left side, while a few unlit, rectangular windows dot the second story around the sign. As your attention travels downward though, it is the first floor in which your interest is held most.

A large well-lit bay window reveals an interior. You remain around fifty feet away, so it is hard to tell what is inside, but you can clearly make out some of the furnishings. Although clearly strange, the atmosphere is quite inviting. Left of the large window is a tall light brown door made of heavy oak with a brass door-knob. You yearn to try it and escape the void you’ve been trapped in.

The door to the bar creaks open, slowly and steadily. The sound of smooth jazz wafts towards you in a breezy and lazy fashion. As you approach, the scent of wine and polished wood greets you in a loving embrace. Before you know it, you’re standing in the doorway. A touch of anxiety lingers though; this improbable place seems so surreal and yet anything must be better than the suffocating trench you left behind.

Inside, you find a wall to your immediate left bedecked in hundreds of black and white Polaroid photos. Each depict a different person at the bar. You don’t recognize the faces, but they all appear ambivalent as though they were merely passing time when their pictures were taken. You wonder when the photos were snapped and who they were before coming here.

Directly across from you is a short hall that leads to a stairwell with thin, red carpeting over it. A single bare bulb hangs from where the stairwell turns at a corner. The bulb is unlit and the stairwell seems almost foreboding. You turn your gaze from it for now. Perhaps later you will explore where it goes.

It is to your right where the expansive bar opens up. The walls are decorated with lighted sconces equipped with conical frosted shades, which feature the barest touch of a splash of crimson. Their light provides the lounge with a snug-like ambiance while the overhanging cylindrical lamps illuminate everything else fully.

It is a large and open drinking establishment, where the bar stands proudly in the center encircling a tower of shelves, which contain various beverages that range from hard liquor to the most exquisite of fine wines. The bar itself is made of a well-polished dark cardinal wood with matching bar-stools surrounding it. Soft, white cushions cover each stool’s seat and backrest in a way that leaves you longing to take rest your weary feet.

Beyond the bar is an archipelago of circular wooden tables surrounded by matching chairs. At the center of each table are neatly stacked napkins that each have the bar’s name emblazoned upon them. The spacing between gives off an air of privacy, as though one could discuss the most intimate of conversations without worrying of being overheard.

Beyond all of this are a few doors that presumably lead to some type of kitchen and restrooms, however it is the jukebox that most intrigues you. Throughout your examination of the bar, it continued to serenade you with a relaxing combination of piano, drums, and trumpet. Despite your absurd setting, you find nothing out of the ordinary about its existence with all but one exception: it has no coin-slot or music options. It simply plays the music it has while emitting a trance-like amber glow.

“Good evening.” An accommodating voice greets you from behind.

You whip around and see a man standing behind the bar. If you thought your current predicament was strange, the man’s appearance only made it stranger. He stands at least seven feet in height with a rail-thin body that reminds you more of a lamp post than a human being. Of course, the fact that his skin is unnaturally jet black in color further adds to his mystique. His head and face is cleanly shaved, while his facial expression is that of simply an amused observer. His suit is a dusk-like purple and his gloves appear to be made of a brightly colored velvet. You gaze at his unnaturally long fingers, which are clasped together at the moment in a pose of servile patience.

“Please, have a seat.” He says as he gestures towards one of the bar-stools.

You’re not sure why, but you feel compelled to acquiesce to his request. You do not fear this man, but you also do not understand much about him.

“My name is Sutherland.” The man says with a slight bow before resting his hands on the bar. “Now… What’ll it be?”

You are puzzled at this. Of all the questions and fears throbbing in your mind, what you want to drink is far from the forefront. Why are you here? Why is he here? What is Sutherland? What is that dark void, outside?

“It is customary to order a drink at a bar, I believe.” The man says as he interrupts your internal dilemma. You notice his eyes look right into yours.

You order something. It’s not necessarily your favorite, but it’s a safe choice that you feel comfortable with. He nods at your request and begins to prepare it. You watch the man as he works. Every move is deliberate, with no half-measures. In a sense, he reminds you of a bird, although his movements are more fluid in nature to be sure. If you were to make a true comparison, he reminded you more of a reptile than any warm-blooded creature.

The drink is presented in a crystal, square tumbler that is so clear its contents appear self-contained. You throw caution to the wind and immediately drink from the glass! Sutherland watches you as you do so. The expression on his face remains unfazed through the entire process. He is the Cheshire cat, watching the curious mouse nibble at its cheese.

“Now, you’re wondering why you’re here.” Sutherland declares as he scoops the drink up from the bar and goes to prepare another. “I’m sure you know already, but your presence here is not ordinary.”

You turn your view back to the wall of photos for a moment.

“Our previous guests.” Sutherland says as he follows your gaze. “They too were extraordinary, but today is not about them.”

You look back at the bartender and lock eyes with him. His irises and pupils are both seemingly darker than his skin. They show no sign of discomfort or anxiety.

“Today is about you.” He says. “You, my friend – if I may be so bold to call you that – need to move on from this place sooner rather than later.”

Sutherland peers past your shoulder and you see he is looking at a clock mounted against the wall. At least, you suppose it is a clock. There are no numbers on it, but instead strange symbols beyond your comprehension.

“Fortunately, time is on our side, so why not enjoy one another’s company?” You see Sutherland’s eyes have once again locked onto you as he speaks.

“Your ride is on the way, so how about we pass the time with a story?” The bartender offers as he places the refilled glass before you. “I believe I know a good one…”