It’s nearly three in the morning. For the past couple of hours, I’ve been in a groggy state of nearly sleeping, but not being fully awake. The recent mixture of expensive whiskey and sleeping tablets were too blame, but the bed wasn’t really helping either. There is always something about sleeping in another person’s bed. The pillows are always too hard, and the mattress is worse. As soon as I begin to show any animation, I feel the throbbing pain coming from my skull, as if hammers were beating it like a piece of metal. My throat is like a dried-up cave and my tongue is a piece of sandpaper. Water. I’m spending a night in an empty pub but all I want now is water.

I herd myself up to the edge of the bed and slowly begin the effort of standing up. I can’t really tell I’m if still intoxicated as it’s too dark, the moonlight behind the blinds being my only light, but I still refrain from turning it on. I begin to slumber towards the door, the movement confirming that I still was drunk, but beginning to sober up. I reach for the door knob, manoeuvring my hand carelessly along the wood in a feeble attempt to find it. I then feel the cold steel and twist it open.

The corridor is a bluish colour from the nights sky, with the six tall windows offering minimal light. I begin to walk cautiously down the corridor, but as I reach the stair’s I break a smile. There’s no-one home.  But a sudden chill interrupts my humour as I also realise that the closest person to me is Giles and he is half a mile away from me at his farm. That is something that James forgot to remind me. I shown some caution whilst making my way down the staircase, clutching the bannister as it’s my only hope. I am drunk! I walk further down the stairs, and my breaths become heavier and heavier. I feel light headed, and my movements are much slower. I stop manoeuvring down the stairs and attempt to compose myself. What is going on with me? I don’t think it’s the drink, though if I told anyone that, they’d say I sound ridiculous. I continue downstairs, still heavy of breath, but beginning to compose myself. Water. That’ll settle me. I finally reach the door and turn the lock slowly, and I now I see the bar. The room is black, the only lights being emitted from the signs on the beer pumps. I aggressively rub my eyes, feeling the huge bags underneath them. I waddle behind the bar and pull myself an empty pint pot from underneath, and make my way to the kitchen. I flick the light on, the harsh fluorescent beam burning my eyes. I notice the kitchen has been left in a pristine state, all the steel surfaces look polished and the floor is swept clear. I compare that to the state James left it in, and I can safely say I have done a good job; one thing father might have been proud about. He only ever was proud of us when it came to the pub. Probably why he hated me so much. I wasn’t too fond of him either, but all that stemmed from how much I hated this pub. I still do. I preferred writing than labouring, but it’s safe to say my father lacked the imagination to understand the more creative and abstract side of life.

I stop thinking on such drunken thought’s and waddle to the sink. I reach to turn the cold tap; But all I hear is a rattle. I begin to turn it more and more, hoping for the water to come soon, but instead the rattling becomes worse.  I back away slowly, my face fixed in shock, and I begin to cover my ear’s as the rattling is nigh deafening. The fear and intensity sober me, and I quickly jump forward and turn the tap off. The metallic noises grind to a halt, and silence echoes through the kitchen.

“What the fuck” I whisper to myself.

I look below the sink to investigate any form of damage or malfunction, but all the pipes seem in order. Drip. From the spout, a thick droplet emerges. It drips slowly to the base of the sink and goes down the drain. I look at the residue and run my index finger through it, lifting it closer to my eyes. Crimson. My legs begin to shake. I rub the substance on my leggings, burning the tip of my finger with the aggressive friction and leaving a red stain on my thigh. Drip. Another drop comes from the sink. And then another. And another.

“Jesus Christ…”

Is this a nightmare? My heart is thumping, and I feel light headed. The room begins to sway and spin.

I need to get out.

Cold sweat tingles down my nape. The fear has frozen me, any movements are robotic and stiff. THE KEYS! I fling the cupboard above the kitchen surface open, and sprawl through the many keys. ‘Red tape is for the front door’ I grab the full set and bound out of the kitchen, into the main bar. I approach the door and begin to sift through the keys. One by one I abruptly flick through each key.

Where is it? I look through the keys once again, and to no avail.

“Shit!” I drop them on the floor.

I fumble around on the floor feebly trying to reach out for the keys. I find them, pick them up and begin to look again. Still no red tape. I storm towards the kitchen to look through another pile of keys, but as I reach the bar I feel a cold gust of wind on my right arm. I turn right, to see the cellar door, wide open, with just the first wooden step and the gaping darkness visible. That’s where he went. That’s where they found him the next day, clutching the bottom step of the stairs, already turning blue from the humidity of the cellar. I swallow my spit, as nausea clutches my stomach. I don’t even want to go near that door, let alone close it. When the brewery arrived early yesterday morning, I didn’t dare venture down there with them to show them the layout. I didn’t even mention what happened to their usual customer. No wonder Sarah has been given so many week’s off work, with what she would have seen that morning she came in to set up. A helpless dead man. I rub my cheek after a funny tingle, realising I shed a tear. The first tear for my old man.

I continue to the kitchen, and look through the cupboard again, this time inspecting the second set of keys. I dare not check the sink. Blue tape…yellow tape…gold key…RED TAPE! I clutch the key, heading for the door but before I can leave the kitchen, I hear something.

“No…please god no” I whimper into the dark lounge.

It’s coming from the cellar. As I creep past the cellar door towards the front, I cry.

What is this nightmare?

The noise becomes more decipherable. Pained groans and creaking wood. I feel a surge come to my arms and legs, my eyes widen like a beast. My fear manifests in pure anger at the danger of the situation.

“WHO THE FUCK IS THERE?!”

The groaning continues.

“COME OUT NOW!!!”

No response.

My rage at the situation gives me some hope and dignity, it’s the only thing stopping me from leaving. I reach around the corner to find the light switch for the cellar.

BuzzZZzzzZZZzzzZzzZzzZzzZz, the unpleasant artificial light calls from down the cellar. My adrenaline subsides for a second as I prepare to peer around the corner, to see what’s in the cellar. My ears being to ring as my eardrum pops. My nose whistles with the heaviness of my breaths. My single tear has been replaced with streams of sweat.

The weak fluorescent light flashes at the bottom of the cellar, it’s buzz ending in time with each flicker out of light. I cannot truly make out the figure I see at the bottom of the staircase, as the light by now is strobing continuously. All I can see is a thick arm and hand at the bottom of the dark stairs attempting to clutch its way up. The rest of the body is too far in the dark.

“Hello?! Who are you?” I call out, my voice cracking.

Slam. Before I can react, a second arm emerges from the dark, it’s hand clenched in a fist as it’s clear it’s trying to drag itself. My mouth is agape, I cannot find any sane words.

A pained call is heard “H-h-eeelp…”

“What’s happened down there?” I call out.

His right fist drags further forwards, until I can make out his face coming through the dark.

“I think…I’ve had… a heart attack…” He painfully slurs.

I begin to lose my breath; the light-headed sensation returns from earlier.

It cannot be.

Lieing at the bottom of that staircase, was no intruder. It must be some illusion. The ringing in my ear becomes almost deafening, I must get away. He begins to crawl up the next step, writhing in pain as he does so. I back away from the doorway.

“No please – I need help!!” He cries.

I stumble backwards, the room spinning around like a merry-go-round. I attempt to look towards the door. I grab the nearest table as a ballast…Edging towards the door. I must get out. The pained screams intensify from the cellar. I must awake from this nightmare. I slump to the next table, the swaying becoming too much. The screams continue, louder than the ringing in my ears. I reach for the front door, and fall into it holding myself up with the door knob. I drop the keys. I turn around, but my eyes dwell on that doorway. His hand clutches the side of the doorway.

My blood rushes to my head.

My eyes begin to fill up with black dots.

Before I know it…I’ve fallen.

Black.

 

 

 

♦

 

 

 

“NO!!!”

I scream myself awake. Wher-? I’m back upstairs, the light beaming through the curtain’s burning my eyes. I viciously dart my eyes around the room, trying to understand what has transpired, and how I’m here. I move my head and have a familiar headache. On my bedside table, lies an empty packet of tables and an empty whiskey glass. I could not have dreamt such a nightmare. It was real, he was real. I jump for my mobile.  ‘James – NEW MESSAGE’ I open it. ‘Just landed. Hope pub is okay. Will ring at 2. J”. I gasp for air, my throat sore with dryness.

Do I ring him? My tale sounds insane.

I stand up and hunker towards the bathroom, and soon stare longingly into the mirror. My eyes are a piercing blood red, with huge purple marks underneath each. My chin and mouth are surrounded by a field of grey and black stubble. My skin is almost like milk it is that pale. I rub my face intensively, trying to properly wake myself up. My brain has too many questions too function, the throbbing of my headache more painful than ever. I turn on the cold tap of the bathroom sink and the water pours out. I splash my face, tingling my pores. As the water tips off my nose I wipe my face with a towel. I look into my eyes for a few seconds. You drunken fool. I shake my head.

In the corner of my eye as I back away from the mirror, I notice on my blue leggings, a small mark. I inspect it quickly…my heart beginning to sink. I scratch it aggressively on the edge of my nail: A crimson, red substance.