TALES FROM THE BYO CAFE

Bar Harbor, Maine, Oct. 31 ...

As an early morning breakfast crowd disperses beside the BYO Cafe, a spectacular full moon refuses to ebb, clinging to a rosy sky. Rough morning tides bob lobster boats about like toys. Dawn peeks into the kitchen where Gina and Bobby pound dough, light ovens. Conversation turns to how to inform their partner, Tess Magilicutty, she's being pursued.

"Gina, we better tell her. We waited long enough."

"Bobby, whatever Tess sticks her snoot into is her own lookout."

Bobby flops a sturgeon into the sink, proceeds gutting the luncheon special. Blood splatters the ceiling. "This is a big one. Maybe you're right, Gina. People talk behind her back. What if business shows a downward turn?"

"True," Gina remarks, tugging a tray of fishballs from a confectionery oven. "Then tell her. Bobby!"
==========

"MMmmm, yummy, I smell fishballs!" Tess cries, entering the BYO establishment via an alley entrance. "Gina, you added cloves to these?" Shuffling three steamy croquettes with a mound of whipped potatoes onto a plate, Tess beelines for the counter.

Bobby nods at Gina, rips off his apron. "So, you're on time for lunch today, Tess. Nice of you to drop by. Aren't those delicious? Finish your meal, then we need to talk. Seriously, hon."

"Bobby, I'm working as hard as I can, you know. Who cares my muscles are killing me? I'm sick of dishes, the pot line is wearing my nails down."

Bobby paces, looks outside. "Hon, it's something else. Remember when you came up here in an all fired hurry last May?"

"Ah yeahah. When we bought the place?"

"Okay. Stifle. You were followed by someone who was there the night a meteor shower destroyed your former neighborhood."

"No way! I left to capture the disaster on film. Boston showed the precious video which went nationwide. So who is it?"

"Does the name Peggy Cantrillo ring a bell?"

"Who?"

"Your fingers can unclench from the bar, Tess. You know she's been in a few times chatting up Gina. They beachcomb together occasionally. Apparently, Peg's a thing for beached dead birds?"

"You don't say." Tess waxes innocent, shaking her hands as if they are wet.

Gina plops upon a twirling counter stool, puts her arm around Tess's sloping shoulders. "The former policewoman, Officer Cantrillo says you know something important about her missing boyfriend. Do you, Tess?"

"Listen, Gina. I'm on record with I don't believe in vampires. So best stay off my case."

Awaiting the lunch crowd, Bobby and Gina sigh, watching their partner slide into restaurant mode, fixing fresh coffee, placing hot rolls into baskets. Business as usual rakes in the dough for the dough that Gina bakes.
================

Bobby stealthily steers a new guy past his favorite gal, Chef Gina busily counting cash mid-afternoon. Bobby slinks his prey toward the kitchen. Together, they discover Tess mixing coleslaw. A tub of chicken salad receives a cup of relish.

Their guest, a North Dakota native smiles, his mouth watering for a glimpse of the rambunctious Tess, a freelance journalist turned restaurateur. Bobby offers, "Tess Magilicutty meet Apple Anderson, here for the season, living adjacent to your old pal, Cantrillo."

Bobby splits, slams over a chair in the dining room.

"Apple Anderson! I read part of your book, GOD MADE BIRDS IN HIS ALMIGHTY IMAGE. Hawk Mountain Bird Sanctuary carries tons of copies," Tess greets, extending her hand.

Apple laughs, "They say you're quick with compliments. May I?" He picks up a cracker.

"Sure. How is it?"

"Great. You've quite a reputation for chicken salad on a Kaiser bun. Plus, your meteor story is perfect."

Praise is like candy to Tess Magilicutty, smirking, batting her lashes.

Apple hurries on, "Listen, I'll spill the beans. Mid July Peggy C moves into Graystone Terrace. On her daily constitutions, we observe she dons an infant carrier. People interrupt,  desperate to see the baby. Curiosity grew since she'd just pat it's blanketed head, then immediately run like blue blazes."

"Oh? Maybe its just ugly, then?

Apple's jaw drops. "All the ladies gossip about satanic rituals, black candles, men with flying capes, vultures with pant-legs, shoes on sea fowl."

"Okay, Anderson. Meet me in the upstairs office --- ten minutes?"
==========

Gina carries a roll of bills upstairs, knocks.Tess opens BYO's office sanctuary. Downstairs, she informs Bobby, "The two of them are pouring over a map of the city. The Weather Channel's blaring."

Bobby snuggles against his love, sniffing scents of stale money. "Apple's a bird buff, says it's become beyond eerie recently. He's his eye on Cantrillo's third floor deck. Says birds flock to her balcony, 24-7. Now, Peg owns a pet pelican."

"Yeah, yeah, Bobby. And huge heron-type creatures fly in day & night. So shut right up! I already saw this. Down on the beach, she collects feathers to string between Chinese lanterns. One lady on that side of town told me incoming gulls like Peg's red & orange patio lights."

"Gina, did you ever see the baby?"

"No. I'm too afraid to look. When she comes in for warm milk, Peg talks about sending it to college in Transylvania ... someday."

"Stop!"

"Make me, big boy."

"Well, we did notice her quit the beach with a stroller filled with dead gulls and one albatross in September."

"Bobby, it's no lie, you can smell her putrid place from Yarmouth."

"Why do I feel trouble coming, Gina? Why?"

"Maybe for the same reason, Father Bartholomew reports parishioners asking for vampire amulets?"
================

Across from Cantrillo's digs, The Flat Iron Condos face New Brunswick, North West as the tide turns. Apple installs a state-of-the-arts microphone on an outside metal pole. Rocking railings rumble due to squawking below where contrary Cantrillo's avid piping aviary calls to nature, welcoming approaching sea fowl with speedy doom, one block south.

When daylight vanishes like an extinguished candle on the Atlantic Ocean, Peggy Cantrillo edges downhill pushing a dark netted pram. She marvels as storm clouds assault the Bay of Fundy. Reaching her destination, she dives inside the BYO Cafe, abandoning a makeshift stroller to the sidewalk.

Inside the BYO, Gina shouts "Order Up!!" Hands over a Tuna Club then whispers to her mate, "Peg's here, Bobby. In the back booth."

"Oh gawd," Bobby laments, delivering the Club. "Hi, Peg, nice to see you. H-how's the baby?"
=========

Gina forewarns Tess, dipping plates into a rinse sink. As slow as molasses, nervous nilly Magilicutty holds up each piece of china, looks at her brief reflection, listens to rain falling so hard outside the BYO, she shudders anew. Merely thinking upon a former rental where vampires could be part of the local bloodline in far off PA, makes her wonder if she'll ever be clean again. 

Night assaults Bar Harbor as a dark and playful N'Easter robs the entire population of electricity all the way to Portland.

Peg Cantrillo bursts into the kitchen. "Oh no. You can't hide from me!"

"Peggy? Hold on a darn minute, girl."

"Last spring ... When that blizzard closed I-78, you just left us there. Officer Schaeffer stood outside, herding motorists out of stalled cars. Where is the hell is he?"

"Peg, they told you down in Pennsylvania, he probably went under with the fluke meteor shower which slammed into the area. Peg? Listen ..."

Peggy's rain coat grows wider with irate screams. Bulging eyes reveal angry fear as thick as a slab of Vermont Cheddar.

Bobby & Gina sail into the kitchen, holding weapons above their heads. Gina sports a rolling pin. Bobby brandishes a wrought iron skillet.

Tess braces, fingers a crucifix at her neck, which she never removes. In a cajoling voice ... "Peg, eyewitness accounts down south confirm how  ... you carried a baby seat from a car which held something you assumed to be human. It was a some kind of bird, Peg. I saw it from the greenhouse. My landlord kept a camera at the corner of his barn. Stop this, sweetheart, let this one go. Give up any beliefs you formed, Peg."

Gina lets out a bloodcurdling scream. "Bobby, there's a shadow running around. No two of them. Oh Jesus have mercy!"

Bobby swings, misses, watching three more run about. Each entity about two foot tall. The kitchen is inundated with mysterious midgets. Their earsplitting sounds increase. The cacophony akin to noises from gulls or dolphins terrifies the crew.

Outside a server's swinging door, Apple loads a crossbow with a silver tipped arrow. He's steady and ready, also a man with great sympathy for misguided bird life. Be they land or sea origin, by nature intended.

"Peg!" Bobby shouts. "Tourists, living near you, swear you brazenly open your summer rental to a flock of birds. All those neighbors worry about you, Miss Cantrillo."

"So what. Sure, I live in an aviary on the third floor. My business. I'm raising a child, you know. Have a heart."

Tess grabs a hose, squirts hot water at the befuddled patron. Peg's multi-pocketed slicker opens, feathers float in all directions.

"NO!" from Gina, covering her eyes. Secretly, she's invigorated by the confrontation, totally appalled by kissing next month's mortgage payment good-bye. "It's Gina. Stand down, Peg. This is my business. Get OUT!!"

Bobby whacks polished surfaces. "WE don't believe in flying vampire offspring," he mimics, smack, smack.

Peg's coat front is a twitter of life. Inside each lapel one spies movement. Side by side, six fledglings cling to her macerated chest. Blood oozes from her torso, spreads across the tiles.

Gina's voice drains the air around her, "Oh my gawd, people.  She's nursing them."

Apple adds, "Always took her for a clandestine breeder."

"Looky here. God bless you, Peg; 'tis but a freaking shame." Tess announces, placing her tiny cross on Cantrillo's forehead. The sizzle reminiscent of a frozen burger on the grill. A blaze erupts. Cantrillo fades, folds upon the floor. Suddenly, overhead fluorescent beams light the place up like a Christmas tree.

Gina's a crumpled mess beside the dessert cart. Bobby revives his true love. Gina moans.

Apple scours the floor for vagrant feathers or wings. He finds a pair of baby shoes, he later orders bronzed. Tess washes the floor with her extended hose.

Bobby grabs his janitor broom, pushing stench of fleshy ashes.  Under BYO's rippling awning, he rallies temporarily as the sea rises. Aggrieved tumultuous waves smack stained glass corner windows. Salt streaks walls of BYO Cafe. When the ocean retreats an hour later, there's no stroller. Yet, feathers pour down upon Bar Harbor for a few more days.

Despite this paranormal ordeal as October relents to Wicked November, Gina keeps the BYO open for diner trade. People admire her innovative hairdo, a beehive taller than a witch hat. Pale cheeks highlight her tresses, prematurely akin to nearby whitecaps.

Bobby attends daily mass each morning before mixing batters.  Apple goes with him, returns to the local library to research a new book in progress, CONFESSIONS OF A FLY-BY-NIGHT BIRDER.

Tess eats a continuous diet of fresh seafood. However, BYO Cafe crew unanimously eighty-six chicken. Poultry regretfully stricken from the menu to this day.

The entire customer list, aka BYO regulars, plead for the return of Carolina Chicken Salad. So far staff trio and one Apple in the sidelines keep singing ...

"No more chicken salad.
No more apple pie.
Have dinner with a Vampire
Maybe you will die."

Obligingly, Harbor Realtors contacts the  owner of Graystone Terrace. An internationally famous novelist in his own right, he travels north from Bangor. Peg's building is evacuated. Although many a seafaring bird finds solace from Maine's worst weather via flocking inside open windows and empty flats. High pitched keening and constant flapping of visible and invisible wings repel locals and tourists alike. 

Late at night, an obese figure in a fishermen slicker bends, tossing crumbs about for feathered friends. Nearby residents report various figures wearing black topcoats jumping from balconies, their arms akimbo.

Incidentally, most townies say one's sees what one wants to see in Bar Harbor when the moon is bright.