During the day, the town was quiet but peaceful. The fall air, full of superstition and earthly aromas, flowed through this old, simple town in a quiet dance, performing a pirouette to a preoccupied audience. Perhaps it was a cry. Perhaps not. Either way, this town reeked of an 80s movie, with fresh fallen leaves instead of actors; the only difference occurred with wealth and Hollywood out of the equation. This never made the town any less bewitching.

      Within the outskirts of the town, the big, faded green sign read, “Welcome to Durango, the pulse of Colorado.” Maybe that truly meant something... maybe not. Internally, the avenues were lined with old streetlamps, typically covered with moths and gnats who instinctually clung to the light in obsessive sensuality. However, unlike the city, the lamp posts held signs. No, warnings. It read, “STAY IN DOORS AFTER SUNDOWN!!!”

      This, only a few contested. Some due to duty, but most out of curiosity. While the town wasn’t unchanging, it deprived the townspeople of its original congenial nature through its unworldly magnetism towards malevolence. This was not to control the townspeople with fear but instead intended to protect individuals from them. However, the kinfolk normally disregarded this, as they are not very wise. The elders considered them ignorant.

      I’m not new to this town. I’ve lived here for about 10 years since my dad died. Adapting to this town is tough, but the curfew is similar to the one back at home, about 38 minutes away. The unspoken rules within this town keep the residence alive and well, but some are imposed to break some of them; based on the means of survival.

      For example, me. I work full time at the Olde School House and Saloon on the North side of town—in the rough direction of the Uncompahgre National Forest. This job saved me from living on the streets after my mom departed. I’d say I’m doing well in my job though it's a pain in the ass. I mean it pays decent wages for living in this vagrant town, but its homely. The enthralling nature of the town, specifically when the town clock emits those seven blistering rings at 7:12pm, the Sun, intimidating in stature, decides to rest his head down behind those alluring mountains and plateaus—rich in fertile biodiversity that rolled through the hills in long-term capers.

      However, after sundown, the golden hills faded into a deep indigo, almost like mother nature had concussed. The night, frigid and unforgiving, was always enough to make anyone’s spine chill, regardless of how long they’ve lived here. The winds and creaks whispered rancorous fury and anguish; emitting the smells of crusty leaves and wet soil.

      While many follow the town’s tacit agreements, individuals like me have obligation— duty. I usually work bartending hours with Avery due to the understaffed bullshit. I swear this establishment creates its own problems. But I need the money.

      As I slick back my long, dark hair for work, I realize it's just like my dad’s hair. Weird. I always got stares for having long hair as a man. I guess people never got used to me. Somehow my dark black uniform accentuates my elongated furrowed chin now revealed with my hair out of the way. I always thought my pitch-black, abnormally straight mane, my upturned monolid eyes and deep sepian skin looked bad on me, like clothing, but Avery always said, “You are your own worst critic.” He always managed to help me with stuff like that.

      I normally walk to work. It’s a long walk from work, but this month I had to choose either gas or the house I live in. Thankfully, the state had started commissioning what they called a “security task force” for Durango and its neighboring cities. They started hiding in the shadows, of course, for our own safety. Now they have special buses for important people who work at night, like the poor, tired, and slumped nurses at the hospital. I never liked following rules of those who tried to stay a mystery. They’re not to be trusted.

      As I lock up the door, I feel that evolutionary instinct telling me there’s something out in the woods...not the government mandated watchmen, but something ill-natured—like a manifestation of fear. I shouldn’t scare myself...especially in the dark. The roads covered in gravel always managed to have bright green weeds poking out where no other living plant dared. The darkness snuffs the color on them in such a way where it’s difficult to ignore it. Nonetheless, I try to focus on my breathing, waiting for the signs to show up on the lampposts. Just so I know I’m close to the Olde Townhouse. Not because I get lost, but because I like to dilate my time while I try to get a peek at whatever’s in the woods. Maybe the rumors are true.

      Usually, when I arrive to work, Avery locks the doors to mess with me, but I guess he got a little busy. It feels like my limbs drag me down when I walk through those doors. Almost like a gravity shift...perhaps unconscious dread. Immediately upon entering the Olde Town House to clock in, I realize it isn’t that busy...in fact, it’s completely dead.

      Where’s Avery? These words mutter in repetition in my head. Searching the place was my best option. However, while I turn the corner into the back room, I find myself staring at Avery talking to one of those "mysteries”. It looks serious.

      “What are you guys talking about?” I joke, hoping it’s a knife that cuts the thick tension in the air.

      The officer speaks first.

      “Waiting for you to get here.” She says, a strong atmosphere around her. Maybe it’s the way she said it...but I can’t help but feel she’s a deceiver.

      “Did I do something wrong?” I question in hopes of having an easy out.

      “Relax. We need you both to be cautious of certain entities that wander the woods.” She speaks with certainty while handing both Avery and I something—a sheet. She isn’t a deceiver. She’s the messenger.

      Avery becomes antsy. Of course he does. He hadn’t been prompted to talk, which makes him interject.

      “What is this chart for? Aren’t you supposed to prevent those things from coming here in the first place?”

      “Well, yes, but it seems these creatures can imitate citizens with slight error. So, for your safety and others, please watch the warning signs and call this number if you spot one. Remember, your friends are not your friends.”

      Her words spoke truth that I couldn’t grasp. She hands me a crumbled, yellow slip with a four-digit number right before leaving. Imitate? What the fuck.

      I look over my shoulder to glance at Avery. His face is contorted from his usual crooked tooth grin. Like he’s repulsed. Those pearls are now filthy with the decay of uncertainty. This sadistic joke she muttered managed to break the happiest person I knew.

      “You should take a break and relax for a bit,” I mutter hopefully.

      He sits in piercing silence in that stained booth by the front door. It smells like the old food from last Tuesday, has weird, odd-shaped stains on those scarlet seats and on the table that held every meal and conversation since the place opened. I’ll just let him be for now.

      As I make my way towards the back, I gander at the chart with the caste system of these things. I I take mental note of every malevolent expression, every unholy orifice their face comes in, every way a person can spot facial replication error. The chart shows common errors such as strange teeth, elongated limbs, and even the depictions of mangled skin. The kind of skin layered in necrosis. Gross. As I remain lost in analysis, my reading gets as interrupted by the sound of the door’s chime.

      I ease my way to the front, just to make sure I don’t raise suspicion within any worldly monstrosity that may sit atop of that stool by the bar. I notice it was one of our regulars, Earl. No one ever asked his name before, only because it was embroidered with yellow thread in his tattered denim overalls. He always came by the bar after his fifteen-hour shift. He never mentioned where he worked, but it always made him look excruciatingly tired.

      Due to the circumstances, I scan his ID. It’s not the typical ID distributed from DMV, but instead it was distributed by the security administration. He laughs with that sharp pause he always had. Maybe it was an illusion.

      What if this wasn’t Earl? Thoughts of every way I could die crush my head until I feel the pulse of a migraine. Regardless, I must act normal.

      I chuckle along with him to not bring that uncomfortable suspicion. I watch the till as it processes his ID... he is safe.

      After an hour or two, Earl gets up and walks out of those old wooden doors. The wind’s autumn musk floods the Townhouse and turns it into its personal ballet studio. It pirouettes once more, silently travelling between every surface.

      The door closes abruptly, almost like a warning. The wind dies in somber dance, but it leaves a malicious taste in my mouth. I turn my head to look at Avery. Weird. He kept his head towards the window, staring with no purpose.

      “Hey...did you notice Earl?” I mutter, hoping it wasn’t awkward.

      “Uhmm… Yeah.”

      Spoken like someone lost in thought. Avery never did that without his iconic smile— dented by forgotten retainers

      “Hey man, it’s a stressful situation, but I’m sure they’ll figure out a solution soon.”

      “No, yeah, they should,” Avery replies, quicker than usual. Maybe he’s attempting to blow me off.

      “Come on, what’s wrong?” I question with an uneasy suspicion. A thought runs through my head. Is he in shock?

      He refuses to look at me. Why won’t he look at me? I try to examine his face, but he keeps avoiding my gaze. The light reflects off my skin, revealing the desperation and confusion that leisures within my expressions. I stare into the greasy window, full of prints, in hopes for an answer. All I see was a dental arch full of bleached white stones, now too many for the mouth to fit…

      Staring back at me.