Lady of the Lake

It was half-past ten on an autumn night. The pub was nearly empty. There was just Mike, the landlord, hunched over, tapping a pen against that day's crossword, and Gerry, his most regular regular, cradling a pint and staring off at nothing in particular. They talked sometimes, but they'd known each other so long - since they were boys, in fact - that they'd moved past having to. It had been like this for a while, and both of them were happy for it to carry on.

The last of the other customers had filtered out some twenty minutes ago. It was just the two of them, and no-one else would be in before closing time. Mike would wipe down the bar and the tables, shut the lights off, then head upstairs to his flat. Gerry would finish his pint, wish his friend a good evening, then walk an unsteady couple of miles back to his cottage. That had been their routine for two decades. No reason for it to start changing now.

So, when the door banged open at a quarter to eleven, both of them were startled. Mike was a bit annoyed. He was just on the verge of working out eighteen across. Gerry was equally surprised, but he turned around to see who it was and say hello anyway. They weren't to know they were interrupting anything, after all.

The lad who staggered in looked like he'd had a few already. He was swaying slightly, eyes glazed, one hand beating a quick, irregular rhythm against his leg. He was humming to himself, and smiling like he'd just discovered that no, actually, Father Christmas was real.

"Evening." Mike said, dubiously. The stranger laughed.
"You lads'll never guess what's just 'appened to me!" Gerry and Mike exchanged a look.
"No? Why don't you pull up a seat and tell us about it." Gerry pushed a stool out with his leg and gestured to it. The young man grinned, nodded, and weaved his way over to it. "How about a drink?"
"Yeah, that's great, thanks." He was a solid looking fellow, with a mop of dirty-blonde hair, and a voice heavy with the countryside. "Bugger me!" He laughed delightedly.
"I'll just give you the pint, if that's alright." Mike said, pulling one. The young man looked at him, confused for a second, then laughed again.
"That's good! That's well good, that is!"

"So then. What've you been up to?" Gerry asked, as if the two of them had been old friends. The young man shook his head, and knocked off half his pint, smiling all the while.
"You won't believe it! Just won't bloody believe it!" Gerry winked at Mike.
"You'd be surprised, youngster."
"Alright." He laughed again. "Well, I'm seein' me girl tonight. I mean, I'm s'posed to be. And I was. You know. For a bit."
"Oh yeah? She local?" The young man shook his head.
"Naw. Over from Rutherford way." Mike spat between his teeth and Gerry shook his head in mock admonishment, but the lad carried on as if he hadn't noticed. "Got her over for the night. You know how it is." He winked and nudged Gerry, none too gently. Gerry winced, and nodded.
"Yep, suppose I do."
"So, I've got my girl over, I'm givin' it a bit of the old, you know." He continued, filling in the blanks with a fairly graphic gesture. "When all of a sudden, she breaks off."
"She doesn't!" Gerry said. The young man nodded vigorously.
"She does! Runs outside! Starts callin' out that I'll have to go and catch her!"
"Bloody women." Mike opined. The young man laughed again, and took another gulp.
"Bloody women!" He agreed. "So I'm there with me trousers half-askew, can't really walk upright, you know, but I'm off after her anyway."
"I'll bet you are." Gerry winked at Mike again.
"Only by the time I get out the door, she's off into the bloody woods!" Gerry had suddenly started looking quite ill. Mike, as if by magic, slipped him a glass of whiskey.

"The woods, eh." He said.
"Aye. Bloody dark, bloody freezing. Bloody women!"
"Did you catch her, then?" The young man shook his head.
"Couldn't find her! Could hear her, laughing up ahead, but couldn't see two feet in front of me face, let alone wherever she'd got to. I called out, told her to put a bit less effort into it, or it'd be dawn afore I caught up, but she didn't listen. Soon enough, I can't even hear her anymore. So there I am, lost, on my own, stuck in the middle of bloody nowhere. And all I wanted to do was get me end away!" He shook his head ruefully at the unfairness of it all.
"Sounds like quite the evening, alright." Gerry said. The young man slapped him on the shoulder, and Gerry winced again. He was going to have to stop doing that.
"You don't know the bloody half of it, mate! One second." He launched himself to his feet, and staggered off towards the gents. As the door banged open, Gerry took a mouthful of whiskey. Mike said nothing, but reached under the bar, and passed something across to him.
"Let him finish his story, Mike." Mike scowled at him.
"You don't actually want to hear this?"
"I do, though." Mike looked at him, half annoyed, half pitying, but nodded.

The door slammed open, and their new friend walked out. It looked like he was never going to stop grinning.
"Best piss I ever took!" He exclaimed. "I'll have another, mate." It was five minutes 'til closing time now, but Mike just nodded, and recharged the lad's glass. "So then, where was I?"
"In the woods, lost, blue balls."
"Right. That's it. So, I figures, sod it. I'll go home, wait for her to get bored, and make sure to give her an earful before I give her a bit of the old how's-your-father. Only - "
"Now you can't find your way home." Mike said. The young man thumped the bar.
"Bang on! Can't find me way home!"
"Must've been worrying?" He swelled his chest out with manly disdain.
"Bollocks! Not a bit. Angry, I was, not scared."
"'Course not."
"So. There's me wandering about, getting colder, getting properly narked off, when - " he paused and drew in breath " - I see her."
"Your girl?" Gerry asked. The young man shook his head slowly. His smile now had a dopey, dreamy sort of look.

"Not her. Her.This other girl. The most gorgeous one I've ever seen. She had, like - " his mouth hung open as he stared off into the distance.
"Hair flowing like a gentle stream?" Gerry asked. His voice was light, but strangely thick. "Eyes as deep as a winter lake? A voice like - " Mike put a hand on his arm, and he stopped. The young man shook his head slightly, and grinned. Nothing dopey or dreamy about it this time.
"I was gonna say, "tits like footballs", but yeah, whatever." He leered at the two of them, and raised his glass for a toast. Gerry lifted his tumbler, and tapped it very softly against the young man's pint-glass. "She weren't hiding them, neither. Bare-arse naked she was!" He laughed. "And what an arse it was! Would've been a bloody crime to cover that up!"
"Naked, eh?" Mike asked, mildly.
"As the day she was born!" The young man crowed. "Better yet, she's walking over out of the trees like she wants a bit of yours truly!"
"Wow." Gerry said, smiling. "Naked woman in the woods at night, and she's coming on to you? Bit strange, eh?" The young man waved a hand airily.
"One o' them hippies, I expect. So anyway, she comes over, like, right, proper up to me, and I'm thinking, should I just grab her? Because, you know, she's obviously gagging for it, but, you know, hasn't said so yet, and you can get in a lot of bother like that."
"You were scared of her?" Mike asked.
"Naw!" The young man scoffed, then paused. "A bit." He admitted. "You know, naked bird in the woods, not exactly...usual..." he paused. "I'm not complaining! I'm not a poof or anything!" He insisted, with sudden vehemence.
"No, no." Gerry said, as if horrified by the suggestion. The young man nodded, and drank some more.
"Yeah. So, she reaches out and grabs my hand - wish she'd've grabbed something else, eh? eh?! - and pulls me off - ha ha haaaaa! - no, no, starts pulling me along into the trees with her."
"And you went." The young man winked grotesquely.
"Better believe I did! And she takes me through, little ways off, to this lake, right, and I know these woods, but I aint never seen this place before. It was all - " he flapped a hand about "moonlight and shadows and shit. Think some bugger was playin' music."
"Then what happened?" Gerry asked.
"She kissed me." His eyes had glazed over again. "Not just, like, a normal kiss either, like, one I felt all the way down." He ran a hand down his chest to show them, and sighed wistfully. "It was...you know..."
"Special." Gerry finished for him. He nodded.
"Yeah. Special's it. Yeah." He blinked, and looked confused for a minute.
"So?" Mike asked, casually. "You get your end away, or what?" The young man shook his head ruefully.
"Didn't, neither. Can't remember anythin' after that. Next thing I know, I'm staggerin' down the road, and I've caught sight of this place just here." He raised his glass one last time, and finished his pint. "Well!" He said, with finality. "What d'ye think of that?" There was a quiet pause.

"I think," Mike said, at length, "that you had one too many before you set off after your girl, and the rest is all wishful thinking." The young man looked at him a moment, as if he'd like to hit him. Then, he burst out laughing.
"Yeah. All sounds a bit mental, right? Doesn't matter. I know what I saw. And tomorrow night - " he rubbed one hand over the knuckles of the other " - I'm right bloody back there, and I'd like to see any bugger try an' stop me!"
"Who'd do that, eh?" Mike asked. "But in the meantime, my boy, you'll be clearin' out of my pub, on account of it being closing time. Here, Gerry, get the back door will you?" He asked, passing him a bunch of keys. Gerry nodded.
"Will do, Mi - shit!" he swore, as he fumbled them, and they bounced onto the floor a few feet away from them. The young man roared with laughter.
"You wanna be takin' it easy, old timer! Drink'll go right to your 'ead, your age!" Gerry sighed.
"Couldn't pick 'em up for me, could you son? Back's a nightmare just at the moment." The young man rolled his eyes good naturedly, and bent over to retrieve them. Gerry slid the length of pipe out of his coat-sleeve, took aim at the back of his head, and swung.

His arm wasn't what it used to be, and his sight had started going, but he knew exactly where to hit. There was a good, solid thud, like when the batsman's just got everything out of a bowler who should know better, and the young man fell forward with a grunt, catching himself on his forearms. He must've been as strong as an ox - it took another two swings before he went down properly. Gerry was standing over him, breathing hard, feeling the aches running up and down his arm.

"Tits like footballs, eh?" He kicked him, savagely. "Filthy little bastard!"
"Alright, Gerry." Mike said, tiredly. "Turn him over, yeah?" Gerry reached down, grabbed both of the young man's shoulders, and flipped him over onto his back. He was breathing heavily, his mouth hanging open, his eyes half shut and dazed. Mike came round the bar, a bag of salt in one hand. He ripped it open with one practiced movement.
"Get his mouth, then." Gerry knelt down, grabbed the lad's lower jaw, and wrenched his mouth open. Mike stepped closer, and tipped the bag.

The salt came out in a torrent, pouring down over the young man's face, streaming down his throat. He gagged, and jerked, violently, his mouth snapping shut with an audible clack. Gerry and Mike both leapt away, and he rolled over, pushing himself to his hands and knees. He retched, with a sound like he was throwing up his own organs, once, twice, then gave a sort of hideous, tearing cough. He slowly lifted his head, trickles of salt still streaming out of his dirty-blonde hair, his mouth and tongue caked in it. He looked from Mike to Gerry, his eyes glassy and uncomprehending.
"Hkkkkkkkkuuk." He managed.
"Do you think that was enough?" Mike asked, quietly. Gerry was about to reply, when the young man's back arched, hard and suddenly enough that you could hear the vertebrae snap.

His jaw was open again, but trembling now, as if he was trying as hard as he could to close it. Thick, greyish sludge was bubbling out of his open mouth now, streams of it gently oozing down his face, standing out over the taught muscles of his neck. Then, something else followed it. Something black, thick, and limber, something twitching too awfully to be anything other than something alive. It flopped out onto the floor of the pub, and thrashed helplessly on the floor. The young man's body was still locked in position, but his eyes followed it. It was joined on the floor by another, then another, then another. The young man's eyes had rolled back in his head by this point, and as the last one dropped out, his body relaxed, all at once, and he crumpled into a heap.

Mike watched dispassionately as the limbless, tensile things that had fallen out of the young man gradually stopped flopping around, and wrapped around themselves in their death-throes. The earliest of them was already starting to shrivel up.
"Only four." He said, unimpressed. "It can't have been that special then, can it?"
Gerry said nothing. He had taken a stool at the far end of the bar, and was staring across at the opposite wall. Mike sighed.
"Get yourself a whiskey, mate. I'll get the stuff."

Gerry couldn't remember fetching the bottle or pouring himself a glass, but there was one in front of him, and he wasn't complaining. He was barely even in the pub, to be honest. He was back in the woods, forty-five years ago, watching the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen walking towards him through the trees. Her mouth, turned up in the sweetest, most wonderful smile he'd ever seen. Her skin, so smooth, so flawless, like the surface of a glacial river. her hair

drifting at random of its own accord, moved by a breath or some unseen current, one hand slowly raising to beckon him as she moved closer, he'd gone to her, of course she had, she'd taken him to the lake, and she'd kissed him, and he'd held her, and it was wonderful, it was heaven, it was so, so, cold but in the best way, a way that made him feel like he was dreaming and wide awake at once, and then she'd stepped back from him, back towards the lake, and she'd tried to draw him in, and he'd wanted to go, needed to go, had never wanted, would never want anything else, but

"Gerry!" Mike snapped. He was kneeling down by the young man, trying to fit the lower half of his body into the first plastic bin-bag. "Are you going to sit there all bloody - " Mike caught a look at his friend's face, and stopped. He knew that look. He wasn't going to get any help. He shook his head in disgust, and was ashamed of himself for feeling it. He gave a particularly rough tug, and one of the young man's feet burst through the bottom of the bag. "Fuck it!" He roared.

By the time Gerry came back to himself, he was crying. He blinked, and looked around slowly. His whiskey was gone, along with about half the bottle, and the young man. The puddle he'd been laying in was still there, sure enough; ooze, river-water, and resilient little heaps of salt scattered about. Gerry turned back to his glass, and lowered his head towards it. He hated crying, knew how pathetic it was, but what else was he supposed to do? He was an old man, sitting alone in a pub, with no-one waiting for him at home. Everything he'd never wanted to become.

The door opened a little while later, and Mike walked back in. He was younger than Gerry, but not by much, and he was limping slightly as he came in.
"Done." He said, simply. "In the river. Any more big bastards like him, though, and you're bloody well giving me a hand."
"Yeah." Gerry said. "Sorry." He meant it. Mike's expression softened.
"Look, mate..." he put a hand on Gerry's shoulder. Gerry shook his head firmly.
"No. Being stupid, that's all." Mike waited, his hand still resting on his friend's shoulder.

"It's not fair!" Gerry burst out. "I made a mistake, I was wrong, I'm sorry, but she won't take me back! She picks out little shits like him, instead!"
"Gerry!" Mike shook him. "Think about what you're saying! Do you want to end up like that little shit? Dying in agony with those things streaming out of your guts?" Gerry said nothing. "Or what if I couldn't get to you in time? Do you want to end up like Tommy Stelling?" Gerry shuddered. "You remember him, yeah?" Gerry nodded. No-one was likely to forget about Stelling, or what he'd done to his baby boy. "You're going to sit there and tell me that's what you want?"
"No." Gerry moaned. "But I want her. And..." he paused again. "You're going to think I'm mad." Mike smiled.
"Known you forever, mate. How could I not think that?" Gerry smiled weakly.
"Seeing this...the way she'll take just anyone...that makes it worse, somehow. The time I was with her, it was..."
"Special." Mike said, flatly. Gerry nodded.
"Yeah. To me, it was..." but he couldn't say that. Couldn't begin to explain what it had meant to him. "...special. But to her..." he shook his head helplessly. Mike considered this for a moment, then gripped his shoulder tighter.
"Look, mate. I don't know what happened between you, but...have you ever, thought, maybe she knows what she does to people?" Gerry's face registered anger and misery, but not shock. "And that, since you're the only one who's been with her, and hasn't ended up..." he gestured to the mess on the floor. "Maybe that doesn't mean she likes you the least. Maybe it means she likes you the most." Gerry raised his head slowly, the sudden hope in his eyes pitiful to see. Mike had never in his life wanted so much to slap another human being.

"You think so?" Mike thought nothing of the bloody kind, but he just stood there, looking sincere.
"I do." Gerry thought it over, misery fighting against hope.
"Yeah. Maybe. Yeah." Then he laughed, that same easy laugh he'd had back when he was ten years old. "God! Listen to me carry on! I'm a right state, tonight."
"Not at all, mate." Mike smiled. "Go on home and sleep it off, yeah?"
"Right." He nodded. "Yeah. Thanks, Mike. You sure you don't want a hand with - " Mike shook his head.
"Nah, forget it. It can be your turn next time." Gerry nodded, and reached over to shake his hand.
"Good evening then, Mike, and I'll see you tomorrow!" As he walked out, it was like he didn't have a care in the world.

Mike stayed sitting for a while. He knew he had to get started on the floor, and bloody quick, but he didn't feel much like it just then. How many times had they done this, he wondered? How many times, over the years? He knew it was ridiculous to feel guilt - they were worse than dead after she'd got to them - but, somehow, he couldn't help himself. Gerry never had, though. It had always been about her. Knowing as well as anyone what would happen to him, he still wanted to go back to her. Had wasted his life pining for...that, he thought, looking down at the stains on the floor.

He did wonder, sometimes. How something could be so good that the memory of it could override everything you knew. He had, sometimes, thought about putting on his hiking boots one night after he'd closed up, and going for a stroll in the woods. He was old, now, yeah, but, still...

He slapped himself roughly, hard enough to split his lip. He sat there a moment longer, then stood up and went to get the mop.