The Pub

Pat stumbled through the fog. He knew the Inn to be just a mile or so up the road, but the fog dropped on him. He turned to find his car lost in the fog. He followed a path, but he saw nothing beyond his feet.After falling into bushes when the path curved, he lay there wonding what to do next.

"Over here!!" Pat heard voices from the fog, then faces and bodies appeared beside him. "Hey, Buddy, are you okay?"

Pat looked down to see a few scratches on his arms. He wiped his cheek and saw blood on his hand. "I'm okay, I guess."

"I'm George. Come on, we'll get you back to the pub and get you something to warm your innards. Molly can fix those cuts right up. You'll never know you were scratched."

The fog swirled around the men. They grabbed his arms and holding him upright him for a short way.

"Can you walk now Man?" a voice beside him spoke. Pat realized they stopped.

He opened his eyes and turned, there was no fog in sight. "What happened?" He looked at the man who had spoken to him.

"What? Oh the fog? It comes in without warning and leaves the same way. Come on, its cold out here."

Pat followed the men into the pub. There were men gathered around tables. All eyes were on Pat and he felt uncomfortable. "Why are they staring?" he whispered.

George waved his arm and glared at the men until they turned back to their drinks. That's when Pat noticed the cups were made of wood. They looked like hollowed out tree branches. A wooden mug of hot drink appeared before him.

"Drink up and I'll take a look at your scratches. I have some salve that will have them disappearing before your eyes." Pat looked to see a beautiful red haired woman. Her green eyes crinkled at the corners as her full red lips smiled at him. All he could do was bob his head.

She motioned for him to drink and walked away. Her red costume patterned after the old world tavern clothing, hugged her hips. He didn't fail to notice the overflowing breasts either.

The drink slid warm and sweet down his throat. It gave a heat to his stomach and he instantly lost all the cold that seeped into his bones while trudging through the fog. He slouched in the chair and smiled. "That's good stuff. Thanks."

The room seemed to take a united breath and let it go. He heard it in his ears and looked around frowning.

"Have another drink. Hear ye! Hail to all those who braved the fog to rescue this man. What did you say your name was?"

"Pat."

"Patrick, I'm sure. We don't go in for the short names." He lifted his large wooden cup and drank heavily. The rest of the men drank leaving Pat no choice but to raise the mug and drink. His sip turned into a large drink when the cup refused to move from his lips. The liquid spilled down his chin and he had to gulp the contents before it poured down his chest. It didn't end. The cup didn't seem to empty. The sweet warm drink continued to pour from the cup down his throat. Trying to get a breath he almost drowned in the drink. He used both hands to pull the wooden mug from his lips.

The mug flew across the room spilling its contents all the way to the wall. Silence followed as Pat looked for some rag to wipe his face and jacket.

"What happened? Didn't you like it?" Molly stood next to him dabbing droplets from his chin and chest.

He pushed her hand away grabbing the rag. "I don't know what's going on here, but that is no regular mug." He eyed the group with suspicion.

"Just having a joke." George laughed and everyone laughed with him. "You'll do fine. Molly, bring him a plate of food. He's probably hungry by now."

"I need to get back to my car." He tried to stand, but his feet didn't move. His body didn't respond to his brain telling it to stand.

"What's wrong?" George asked.

Pat turned his head, but it moved in slow motion. Everything moved slower.

"What was in that drink?" His eyes bored into George's seeking answers.

"Just a little dose of calmness. We didn't want you hurting yourself."

"Why would I do that?" The words came out of his mouth like molasses in winter. He tried to lift his hand, but it didn't move off the table.

His vision blurred for a moment and darkness fell around the room. All he saw were glowing eyes where the occupants had been. They moved closer to him, surrounding him. His heart beat faster and harder, fear coursed through his veins like hot molten lava.

"Yesss, that's what we want." Hissing voices surrounded him. Something scratched his arm. It hurt, but he couldn't pull away. Now his fear overwhelmed him. Was he going to die?

"You probably will," the voice intone,. "But first, the poor men who had to go out into the cold to rescue you need to have some fun."

More scratching on his skin. Then in the dim light he saw the jaws of the men who sat around the edges of the room consume his fingers. He screamed. A long howling sound of pain.

"What is this? Where am I?"

"If I said Hell would you feel better?" the voice asked.

His other hand disappeared into the mouth of yet another monster. The sound of its teeth crunching his bone made him gag. He turned his head and puked. He didn't care if it landed on any of these creatures.

Scrabbling noise by his feet alerted him to others consuming his bile. He just wanted to die.

"First lesson in Scottish lore. Never, Never get out of your car in the fog."







WC 1004