a flash story by David G Shrock

Music pounds the brick walls working into the sidewalk. Shoes stomp to the beat. The door opens releasing the sound of screaming guitars along with a wave of warm air teasing the line of clubbers waiting in the cold night. Swallowing three people, the nightclub closes its doors, and the city sounds—cars and voices—slink back.

Bouncing and wiggling, Carla dances. She bumps against her best friend, Jennifer. They wiggle close together warming up for the party inside. Shaking her head, Carla says, “I still can’t believe you got passes!”

Bouncing up and down, the young women squeal drawing looks of disgust from others in line.

Jennifer steps back and laughs. “Didn’t I tell you?” Grasping her breasts, she squeezes pushing her cleavage higher in the lacy black push-up bra. “These are going to take me places!”

Crossing her arms, Carla glares at her friend. “What did you do this time?”

Jennifer pokes her tongue out.

“All I know,” says Carla, throwing her arms up, “every time those things come out, we get into trouble.”

The doorman calls out and the line moves forward. Doors open spraying the street with music, swallow a pair of patrons, and close again.

“Look at them,” says Jennifer. “It’s like a goth convention.”

Looking around, Carla notices all the dark clothing. Not everyone in line is goth, but dark is in vogue. She spots another pair of girls in regular club attire: loose tops showing plenty of skin. Realizing how cold the night is, she rubs her bare arms and imagines a warm sandy beach.

“Well,” says Carla, trying to ignore a scowling goth man. “This club is called, Necropolis.”

Jennifer bounces on her toes and claps her hands. “They say actual vampires come here!”

Waving a hand, she bats away childish fantasies. They are twenty-one now, too old to believe in such things. “Movie teeth and special contact lenses. It’s all for show.”

“Whatever,” says Jennifer. “I’ll let a hunky vampire sink his teeth into my neck.”

The doorman calls out. Grasping Jennifer’s hand, Carla bounces to the red velvet rope. She watches her friend hold up the passes and shake her breasts for the tall doorman. Rubbing his bald head, he studies the passes. He glances at the girls and back at the passes.

“Expired.” The doorman tears the passes and tosses them into a steel drum.

“What the?” Jennifer’s jaw unhinges. Recovering, she flashes a smile and leans over giving the doorman a perfect view. “Are you sure?”

“Expired.”

Carla tugs on her friend’s hand pulling her away. They stomp up the sidewalk and stop. Spinning around, they fold their arms and glare at two goth girls entering the club.

“Look at them.” Jennifer tugs at her skirt. “Look at us.”

“I know,” says Carla. “We look like sluts.”

“We could do goth.”

Reaching out, she pulls on Jennifer’s shoulder spinning her around. “No you can’t. Just look at your body.”

Jennifer’s face lights up. “I know. I’m too hot for drab.”

“Excuse me,” says a deep voice.

Spinning around, Carla finds a massive chest filling out a black buttoned shirt. Peering up, she takes in the gorgeous wavy hair framing the perfect smiling face. His dark eyes drink her in, and she feels her knees weaken.

“Looking for the club?” His voice sounds like angels singing.

“Yes,” says Carla. “But.” Her thoughts hit a wall as her eyes lock onto the man’s gaze. It feels like swimming in an ocean, the wave pushing her naked body to shore.

The man shakes his head. “You lovely ladies don’t want to go in there.”

“Oh, yes we do,” says Jennifer.

Carla throws an elbow into her friend’s side. She wants what Mister Dreamy wants.

“No,” says Mister Dreamy. “There’s another entrance around the corner. For elite members.” He winks, and Jennifer stumbles up against him.

Racing for attention, Carla lurches against the big chest. As the muscular arm wraps around her, she feels warmth building inside as she rides her ocean wave. Peering over, she spots her friend riding the same wave. She cannot compete against a body like that, but she is the better dancer. Feeling the beat rising from the sidewalk into her feet, she dances against Mister Dreamy, rocking her hips, the music flowing up into her arms. She spots Jennifer doing the same, but this is her wave. She presses close, wiggling against the hard chest. She spots her beach coming into view, a shore covered in lavender.

Peering up, Carla presses her chin against the chest. “And his guests?”

Mister Dreamy guides them around the corner, and they groove their way up the steps. An elderly man wearing a suit nods to them as he opens the door. Carla finds herself swept into darkness, her wave comes crashing down.

The door closes behind with a loud thud.