In the winter lands, where the sun would die for months at a time, a great dark beast would roam in the month’s long night. Some said he was a polar bear whom a dying dogsledder taught the language of men. Others said he was a monster from the unholy union of an orca and a wolf. Wherever this creature who shunned the light may have come from, he loved nothing better to eat than men. Thus he would seek out the greatest warriors and strongest men of the winter lands, and put forth his challenge to them.

“Best me,” the dark beast of endless nights would say, “and I will be your servant and let you wear my skin. But if you do not, I will eat you up and pick my teeth with your bones.”

Invariably, the bones of the loser would find their final use in this grim ritual.

One night, as the beast walked about in the howling winds, it came across a brightly lit shack, seemingly in the midst of nowhere. Yet a sign hung above the doorway welcoming visitors, without even a name besides. The beast snarled in pleasure and shoved aside the door, for while it hated the light of day, the fires of men scared it not at all.

“Who among you will play for his life,” roared the beast as it entered the warmth and light. “For I will make a wager with one, or eat the lot of you whole! Come and play my game!”

The men all huddled about their tables, casting furtive glances over their drinks or shoulders, lowering their heads well below their shoulders and not a one of them raised his voice to the beast. The beast’s terrible eyes glowered at each man in turn and his great fangs glistened. At last, when silence (save for the horrible bellows breath of the beast) had descended upon the bar for several minutes, the bartender spoke up.

“Very well,” she said. “I can see no one else here is up to the task, so I will meet your challenge, and I daresay I’ll beat it as well.” So she tossed aside her bar rag and dirty glasses, and levered her lengthy legs over the bar in a swirl of blond hair. “This is my bar and so you may call me what you will. You are certainly too rude to bother telling you my name. I shan’t care if you know it should I fail, and you won’t be allowed ever to learn it otherwise.”

The beast growled with enthusiasm. “A meal with some fight in her! Very well, name what challenge you will. If you best me, I shall be your servant and give you my skin. But should you fail, I will eat you all up and pick my teeth with your bones.”

“Ha!” said the bartender, and set out glasses. “If you do not fear the fire of man, then let us see how well you know our fire water. I’ll wager your skin to my life that you fall before I do.” And with that she filled up the glasses with her most potent brew.

Beast and bartender each swallowed glass after glass of the clearest, purest alcohol. The beast glowered and gnashed his teeth, and swallowed each glass with great relish. He licked his lips and smacked as she poured, making a show of how delicious and sweet the brew was, even as the spilled droplets rinsed paint from the table. As for the bartender, she poured carefully and made clever faces at the beast, and blew him kisses, and taunted him, sipping slowly and carefully. Sometimes she would make as if she was about to fall, and then wink at the beast.

There was no telling how many hours they drank, for there was no sun in the sky, and no timepieces in the bar. Again and again their glasses, empty, slammed down onto the table top. The beast said to the bartender, “Fool girl, you are not a fourth of my size and I have bested men twice your weight many a time. Drink all you will, but I shall dine on you anon!”

And with that pronouncement, the beast’s eyes rolled up into his skull, and he fell, senseless, to the table with a crash that tumbled bottles from their shelves.

The bartender smiled to herself and stood up. She took the beast’s skin and carried it to a corner, where she slept at long last, thinking to herself, “There is no need to clean up now, my new busboy will do it in the morning.”