Mitzi the bartender had watched everything unfold from behind the counter. She had seen the old woman come in previously, but she generally kept to herself. CJ went back to his beer and she grabbed a mop. She then made her way over to the old hag’s table. Mopping up some spilled drinks on the battered wooden floor. As she got closer to her table she noticed the old hag had been scratching some sort of image into the surface of the table with her gnarled fingers.
"What ya been working on? " she asked, in a cordial manner. She leaned over to get a closer look. That's when he saw it: a crude drawing of a werewolf, complete with sharp claws and bared teeth. And scrawled underneath it, in jagged letters, were the words "the moon got me!"
She felt a chill run down his spine. She had always assumed the old hag was just a cantankerous old lonely woman. . But now...She thought that it was possible that she had some sort of connection to the sightings, and CJs story as well?
She decided to try and get some answers "Hey, that's a pretty good drawing," she said, gesturing to the image. "Do you believe in all these werewolf stories we've been hearing lately?"
The old hag snorted, taking another swig from her drink. "Don't be ridiculous," she muttered. "The moon hasn't been full for years!" Mitzi knew this couldn't possibly be true. In fact just yesterday the moon had been as full as ever, and blood red at moonrise.
She continued to mop the slop on the floor, and she couldn't help but wonder what other secrets the old hag might be hiding. After all, if she had scratched that image into the table, there had to be some sort of reason for it.
As the night wore on, CJ kept nursing his beer and the normal bar sounds resumed. She found herself stealing glances at the old hag every so often, wondering if she was really just a harmless old woman, or if there was something more sinister lurking beneath the surface. And every time she looked over, she was there, drunk in hand and muttering to herself, a dark glint in her eye. She continued to scratch into the table with a small pocket knife perfectly lodged into her crooked fingers. And everyone else got louder and drunker, completely oblivious to her scrawling onto the table in the corner.