The night started out like any other night.
The building had sustained a few damages from the storm two weeks ago, but they hadn’t taken too long to get fixed – a few broken windows and loose tiles, and a whole chunk of the roof had to be replaced. That had been the worst thing, but at least the pub itself had been saved a lot of the damage due to being on the ground floor. Elliot had never been more grateful about their move to Redwood from Gullsborough – at least here, they were far enough away from the river that they hadn’t sustained any water damage after the river’s banks had split.
For a few nights they’d been without power, but Elliot had still opened the doors to the public; he created an atmospheric camaraderie; he’d called all the buskers he knew, and they belted out their songs on a stage with no electricity, but they were used to it. He’d bought the nearest store out of all of their tea light candles. Every table, and every nook and cranny was covered in candlelight, and the fire roared in the grate. There were no cocktails, really, or cold drinks to be served. The beer taps didn’t work. But they had lots of spirits, lots of wine. And whatever they did have that was cold, they had to get rid of unless it spoiled – Elliot was giving stuff away.
Even the kitchen staff had rallied together; some of them had brought in their camping barbeques and they’d done what they could with all the food that was spoiling in the cold room; Elliot turned Lancaster’s into a kind of soup kitchen, where broth and casseroles were served up to any who needed the sustenance. A lot of people had lost their homes, and the homeless couldn’t stay outside in these frigid conditions.
The neighbourhood rallied. Even now, when Elliot wasn’t giving things away anymore, they still came. They remembered what the establishment had done for them, and they chose to support it.
Each night since had been busy. And Elliot was behind the bar, helping to serve the customers. That’s where he was, with a tea-towel slung over his shoulder and a genuine smile on his lips, when he heard a piercing shriek from near the pool tables. It was different to the usual high-pitched shriek of drunk women. This one was blood-curdling. It was true and real fear. Elliot looked up from the beer that he was pouring, and nearly dropped the glass.
There, in the back of the pub, a mass of shadows was forming. Not just shadows. It was almost as if a black were forming right there by the far pool table, and growing out of this black hole was grey skin, pallid and corpse-like; a massive head with teeth too long for its skull, its neck twisted back at an inhuman angle. The thing defied all natural symmetry. It was something straight out of a nightmare – and it had no eyes. Just deep pits of a blackness so deep and dark that they could be endless.
Elliot shouted, then, and did drop the glass he was holding. It smashed on the floor as he leapt toward the trigger for the fire alarm – he smashed the glass and punched the button, and the wailing sirens soon overwhelmed every other sound. The customers started to swarm toward the front doors. Elliot retrieved his sword from beneath the bar, and went against the swarm. With a determined step, he made his way toward the beast, which was now bearing down upon the screaming woman, who could not move out of fear.
The building had sustained a few damages from the storm two weeks ago, but they hadn’t taken too long to get fixed – a few broken windows and loose tiles, and a whole chunk of the roof had to be replaced. That had been the worst thing, but at least the pub itself had been saved a lot of the damage due to being on the ground floor. Elliot had never been more grateful about their move to Redwood from Gullsborough – at least here, they were far enough away from the river that they hadn’t sustained any water damage after the river’s banks had split.
For a few nights they’d been without power, but Elliot had still opened the doors to the public; he created an atmospheric camaraderie; he’d called all the buskers he knew, and they belted out their songs on a stage with no electricity, but they were used to it. He’d bought the nearest store out of all of their tea light candles. Every table, and every nook and cranny was covered in candlelight, and the fire roared in the grate. There were no cocktails, really, or cold drinks to be served. The beer taps didn’t work. But they had lots of spirits, lots of wine. And whatever they did have that was cold, they had to get rid of unless it spoiled – Elliot was giving stuff away.
Even the kitchen staff had rallied together; some of them had brought in their camping barbeques and they’d done what they could with all the food that was spoiling in the cold room; Elliot turned Lancaster’s into a kind of soup kitchen, where broth and casseroles were served up to any who needed the sustenance. A lot of people had lost their homes, and the homeless couldn’t stay outside in these frigid conditions.
The neighbourhood rallied. Even now, when Elliot wasn’t giving things away anymore, they still came. They remembered what the establishment had done for them, and they chose to support it.
Each night since had been busy. And Elliot was behind the bar, helping to serve the customers. That’s where he was, with a tea-towel slung over his shoulder and a genuine smile on his lips, when he heard a piercing shriek from near the pool tables. It was different to the usual high-pitched shriek of drunk women. This one was blood-curdling. It was true and real fear. Elliot looked up from the beer that he was pouring, and nearly dropped the glass.
There, in the back of the pub, a mass of shadows was forming. Not just shadows. It was almost as if a black were forming right there by the far pool table, and growing out of this black hole was grey skin, pallid and corpse-like; a massive head with teeth too long for its skull, its neck twisted back at an inhuman angle. The thing defied all natural symmetry. It was something straight out of a nightmare – and it had no eyes. Just deep pits of a blackness so deep and dark that they could be endless.
Elliot shouted, then, and did drop the glass he was holding. It smashed on the floor as he leapt toward the trigger for the fire alarm – he smashed the glass and punched the button, and the wailing sirens soon overwhelmed every other sound. The customers started to swarm toward the front doors. Elliot retrieved his sword from beneath the bar, and went against the swarm. With a determined step, he made his way toward the beast, which was now bearing down upon the screaming woman, who could not move out of fear.
