Unfound

this ain't new york no more

"Hey there young fella, can I get you something to drink?" Asked the bartender.

Zack just stood and stared. His mouth moved but no sound came out.

Now, he was no expert on inter-dimensional doors, but this was not the place that he had seen through the one he had just passed through.

Instead of being in his kitchen with Talia, Zack stood in a dimly lit bar that he would've thought was abandoned if not for the two gentlemen that were also here. There were two tables either side of where Zack stood and the bar itself was only 6 or 7 paces away, directly in front of him. He could see a few beer pumps and a huge collection of whisky on the shelf behind the barman.

Alongside the living people in the room, there were also a few who were no longer alive. Several skeletons sat upright at the tables, finger bones curled around an empty glass in some cases. They wore what looked like business-wear; white shirts with sleeves rolled up past their elbows. It seemed to Zack that if he were to touch their ancient clothes, the whole outfit might disintegrate. Cobwebs and dust smothered almost everything in sight.

Once Zack had taken stock of his new surroundings, he could get a proper look at the people. The bartender looked to be in his late sixties and was pale with white hair that had receded halfway across his skull, bushy grey eyebrows and narrow-set blue eyes which held a certain innocence. The leather shoes, suit trousers and shirt he wore were all black and he seemed to be thin apart from his over-sized belly which strained visibly against the buttons of his shirt.

The other man was sat on a bar stool on Zack's side of the bar and was giving him a thorough visual examination to the point where he began to sense an element of danger. He was dark-skinned, had close-cropped brown hair and looked to be late twenties or early thirties. This man was dressed casually, in baggy jeans and a hoodie, but Zack could see how it was still tight around his arms and shoulders, hinting at a powerful build.

Breaking the awkward silence that Zack had created through not replying, the customer flashed him an easy smile and lightly thumped the bartender's shoulder, "Come on man, what I told you about your manners!" He offered his hand from where he was sat. "Nice to meet you bro, I'm James and this is Howard. He don't usually got time for pleasantry, what with all his custom." With his other hand, James gestured at the dead patrons.

Zack was too tense and anxious to laugh at the man's joke but stepped forward cautiously to offer him a weak handshake. The floorboards and the stool underneath James creaked.

"I'm Zack, nice to meet you both." He mumbled, looking downwards and scratching at the outside of his left arm. Howard raised a hand in greeting. Zack's English accent contrasted strongly with their American ones.

"Have a seat, have a seat!" James offered enthusiastically. Zack climbed up on the neighbouring bar stool, casting a wary backwards glance at the door he had come through. The ageing upholstery had partially split but it managed to support his minimal mass as Zack took the weight off his legs. He let out a sigh of relief.

"Seems as though you've come a long way," remarked James.

Zack nodded at that and rubbed his thighs to relieve the tension in them. James took a sip on the whisky he was drinking.

Zack had never dealt well with this kind of situation, as his mother had always reminded him on the frequent trips to see the doctor.

"He's terrible in social situations, he must have some kind of disorder. An illness or something." No mom, it's anxiety and a severe lack of confidence. You'd have got to the bottom of the problem a whole lot quicker if you'd have actually asked me about it.