Strange Short Stories

I had that feeling today; I’m sure you know the sort I mean.

The one that comes when the sun is shining, there’s little breeze and all is well with the world. A quiet stroll into town taking your time while breathing in the clean fresh air would make this day a genuine special one. I would simply enjoy the moments as they came along; nothing could spoil this simple pleasure. The feeling that comes when you cannot make your mind up what you want to do on an unexpected free day but takes you away to just go somewhere, anywhere, away from the routine.

I needed to walk, no, stroll not walk, go somewhere to enjoy the day while it lasted. Nothing strenuous, just a gentle one step after the other whichever way it takes you. That was the feeling I had.

Yes it was a little overcast, turning grey here and there, but it was a warm, early afternoon and the sun kept breaking through. The air was a little humid and I was getting the impression that by evening time it might turn to a little rain, but right now, nothing to worry about.

I had made the decision (I thought I had) to walk into town, leaving my coat behind. I would not need it until any rain started later on, by which time I had convinced myself that I would be back home. The walk had become nothing more than a casual stroll on a summer’s day and it pleased me greatly. It satisfied that early feeling and I just drifted along with it.

Quickly stepping up the curb, I avoided being run down by some young lad in his ‘go-faster’ sports car. Perhaps he thought that the stripes down the side and the noisy exhaust made him into some sort of rally driver but all it did was make him into just another ‘boy-racer’ and a nuisance on the roads.

I had no intention of being run down by such a lad and had hurried across to avoid becoming another silly casualty in the plethora of statistics recorded every year. Besides, he would not have known that he couldn’t really hurt me, but I’ll come to that a little later on.

There in front of me was that same hotel as I had left it a couple of years ago. I chuckled at that thought; I wasn’t into the hotel moving business or ever likely to be. It had changed its appearance since the last time I had seen it and it was now a sort of regular, pale sandy colour which presumably was a paint job over a new render. The last time I had walked this way it had been all regular brickwork, not unpleasant but definitely not attractive. This makeover had made the difference and it appeared now to be an inviting place to call in, but I was not stopping here, I was heading into town.

The sign over the main entrance spoke to me, all and sundry no doubt in such big letters, “The Highland Traveller’s Rest”.

I realised I had no idea what it had been called previously, I guessed that I simply hadn’t noticed; should I have done? I can’t think why. I had not been up into the highlands for many years, perhaps next year, perhaps not. The delights of the cold wind swept hair and an extra jumper even on a warm day I could give a miss today and especially nowadays, most times. I gave the idea and the new signage a miss and continued my walk into town.

The main road that I had just crossed seemed busier than ever, perhaps some new connections from some new roads had been made and traffic was being diverted along it; a bypass from somewhere or other.

Crossing each side road or street I did with a little extra care, the quiet nature of this route seems to have gone for ever. One or two of the streets still had children playing on them, as I once did, and I guessed that was something to do or other with new traffic calming measure; perhaps. The children seemed happy and they were certainly better dressed than I had been at their age; no raggy pairs of trousers or bare feet to be seen anywhere.

At one of the larger side roads I was nearly knocked over by another new breed, cyclists in their fancy coloured Lycra astride racing machines that seemed a long way from the sturdy types my generation once rode upon. This lot had come along speeding up to the double white lines where this road joined the main one but simply failed to stop for them or me. They charged recklessly round the corner onto the main road as though they owned it and I was sure some equally careless driver or other would soon knock one for six.

I turned away from the main road with its mixture of boy-racers, lunatic cyclists and of course the heavy trade traffic that always tried to dominate the highway. This side road I had not walked along before and I was interested to see the small shops that decorated its path; a fish and chip shop (of course there was always one of these among the side roads) and even now with it not open for business the lingering smell was most inviting.

 I had chosen this side road well. I chuckled to myself again at this odd thought because I had not really made any sort of conscious choice, just followed my feet. Here now a delightful newsagents that sold everything besides newspapers, and towards the end of the road I was surprised to find a milliners offering both ladies and gents fashions.

If I turned left at the next street I would be heading in the correct direction for town. I had no idea what I might buy, if anything, from the plethora of large and small retail stores or the equally numerous, but no less interesting, small shops that existed there. For the present I decided to relax to consider only where I was and the path my feet were taking.

This was longish street that curved slightly to the right and I found myself engrossed in the many colours of the painted doors and windows, not garish or poorly done but quite attractive and to me somehow welcoming. Then came the shop selling fresh bread that I detected by its incredible odour some distance away.

Reaching its display there revealed were the tattie scones, the buttery bread rolls, all of these which I recognised, and an assortment of cakes many filled with cream. I had to keep walking, I was not coming into town to carry a bag of delicious bread and cakes while shopping; perhaps I would find this place again on the return journey. I strolled on fighting the urge to stop and go back, the hot fresh bread would have to wait.

Crossing over the next street junction and then another, I felt certain I could not now be far off town. I could even hear the sounds of town drifting along these same streets. Now what was this I spied a couple of streets yet further on? It looked like a corner drinking establishment. Was I still on the right route? I had to check behind me and that seemed to be fine from where I had come along the gentle curve from which I didn’t recall varying, not being deflected by the bread shop or anything else.

This seems surprisingly odd yet it had no reason to be, I was among welcoming houses of pleasant folk and playing children making me feel very much at home, but I knew somehow that a drinking house should not be there. How on earth did I know that? I ‘knew’ that I didn’t know that but yet I did; oh was I confused.

“Relax, you fool,” I thought to myself. “Don’t try to make sense of this, just accept it. You’ve walked a route that you haven’t done before even it does seem familiar in places; just go with the flow.” I was taking to myself, or more properly, thinking to myself and that did not make sense. Why was I becoming confused, that made no sense either?

I had intended to go into town, which could not be more that a five minute stroll further on, but I was now being drawn towards this little drinking place. I relaxed myself with the idea that a little refreshment would not go amiss. It was a warm day, I had been walking for more than a half hour now, “Yes, have a cool beer,” I was thinking to myself again. “Just the one, you will feel much better,” I was thinking out loud – is that possible? Why was I going to feel better, I already felt pretty good?

“Oh what the hell,” I was thinking to myself again and what did ‘hell’ have to do with any of this. I consoled myself to the thought that this was simply an expression I had not thought to drop many years ago when I had the opportunity.

“Oh come on, just the one and no more.”

The entrance was at an angle right on the corner of the building, an alleyway ran down one side, the entrance lacked a sign but it did have a door from which dirty red paint was flaking badly. Three letters fixed to the top of the door spelt out the word ‘BAR’. I was not at all inspired but, never the less, strangely drawn to enter and sample the ales or at least one of them.

Two stone steps led off the street to the door and as I started up them I spotted a couple of empty bottles stood to one side, just into the alleyway to the right. I couldn’t leave anything as scruffy as this, so I picked them up to take inside with me.

I pushed the door open; it gave easily, and I walked inside. This was only a very small room with space for no more than a dozen guys, not helped by the bar which was an ‘L’ shape and took up a lot of the room. The right hand side had some, three I think, guys up against the bar, one foot each on the lower rail; no room there. To the left were a couple of guys but with an empty spot at the end nearest the wall; I headed for there.

“Pull up a pew, young man,” the big guy at the end directed me to the gap, offering me this spot. He was big and muscled in his open neck and rolled up sleeve shirt and I didn’t want to argue with him, anyway why should I?

“Pull up a pew, what a strange thing to say.” Down south maybe but these guys were not of the posh sort I would consider lived up here.

I made my way to the end of the bar and placed the empty bottles on to the bar.

“Found these outside mate,” I tried. “Thought they would be better off in here.”

“Cheers,” was the reply, as the barman picked them up to place into a crate beneath the bar. “They were probably left there by ‘Old Joe’. He sometimes can’t get back up the steps, not that he’s drunk, just old and not too clever; you understand?”

I nodded yes to that last bit of his statement, a question that really did not require an answer, but I offered one, albeit a nod of the head, in any case.

“What can I get you Sir,” I was asked.

“A pint of sixty bob,” I asked without thinking. “Where did that come from.”

“Aye Sir,” he replied. “You know your ales, but you’re not from these parts are you?”

I didn’t answer but smiled a little.

“We still have a barrel on tap for customers like you,” he continued as he started pulling the pump with a fresh glass below the tap.

“You do know your ales, for a foreigner, that is,” the big guy to my right continued the thread.

“I’ve had a few of these in my time,” I replied trying to be polite. “One of the nicer beers in this world,” I added, realising straight away that I had said too much.

Would anyone here pick up on that slip of the tongue?

“Come far?” the big guy propping up the bar to my right asked.

Had he picked up on what I had just said? “Play it straight and easy,” I told myself.

“Not that far,” I replied casually, “just a short walk away from where I’m staying.” I thought it best to join in the conversation, well why not. “Be sociable,” crossed my thoughts and, “keep it easy.”

“From down south?” he persisted.

I had to think about that; I wasn’t too sure for some insane reason. “Aye that’s right,” thinking it was the best to agree and just go with the flow of the words.

I glanced round for some reason, maybe unconsciously looking for an escape, only to realise there were no windows in the side walls and but a single door for the barman, I guessed, to reach his cellar and the one I had just walked through. Also very strange to me was the lack of cigarette smoke.

“That stopped years back,” the big guy propping up the bar next to me explained.

“I’m not reading your mind laddie, I could see the question in your face like a few others we’ve had in here of late.”

“Thanks,” I responded with another half smile. “Yes I had been thinking that.”

The guy next to me chuckled. “There you go laddie, I’m usually right about new faces.”

“Do you like our ales then?” the next guy further along on the right asked.

I leaned backward to see this new speaker. There he stood, an old guy, well wrinkled, unshaven with white stubble and with a well worn tweed flat cap balanced on his head matched only by his full length raincoat in dingy grey and the few stains near the pockets. It was too hot for an overcoat even a light one but he was wearing one.

“Certainly do,” I replied trying to be polite. “But I only get to taste them now and then, when I’m allowed to come north.”

“You’ve travelled a lot then?” he came back with another question.

“In this world,” the first guy added. “You said in this world. So I’m guessing you’ve been around a bit.”

“Not a lot,” I answered honestly without much thought.

“Then which world,” the big guy queried, “this one or the next one?”

“He’s caught on,” I thought, “me and my big mouth.”

I laughed as though he’d been joking, raised my glass to slurp a good draught through the creamy head.

“That was nice, I really needed that,” I tried, hoping that the ‘world’ question had gone away. The parched throat had been sorted to be replaced by a different sort of dry.

“Aye, laddie, come on now,” the old white stubble pushed the question I had not answered, “which world then? If it’s not this one, then the next one it has to be.”

This was put to me in all seriousness, he wasn’t joking, not even a smile.

“Well,” the big man asked again in a very cool voice, “which world?”

It was not in my nature to be deceptive and faced with these two, not including the bar man who had a developed an angry look on his face, it would not be a clever move; straight answers, as far as I knew them had to be provided.

“The one that comes after this one,” I tried.

Not one of them blinked, no-one so much as expressed surprise at my answer and the other leg of the bar the glasses were still being raised and drunk from.

“Seriously,” I tried, not knowing why I was trying to reinforce my answer. “I am really, what you might call a ghost, honestly.”

“Are you trying to take the piss, laddie?” the big man asked with a really stern expression on his face now.

“Let me ask you a question that might clear this up,” I tried. I was compelled to tell the truth, there was no other way for me.

“Tell me what you know about ghosts,” I tried reaching for my glass to take away the dreaded adrenalin dryness. “Please tell me, and then I will try to explain. I really am being serious; this is not a piss take.”

I had been caught out and the only way out of this mess was to come clean and try to explain as honestly as I could. Then I thought to myself, “Why should I be worried? I cannot be killed again,”

I had been through that process many, many years ago. The worst that could happen would be if I simply dissolved and went back the quick way. That would not please the Administrator and future trips would most certainly be placed at risk.

I had to come clean, whatever, it was the way expected of me and in truth, the only way I knew.

“Let me ask you,” I started. “Oh no you have just used that once already.” I had to push on. “What ever you know about ghosts let me add to your understanding?”

I took another cool, draught from my beer and steadied myself. “Come on, get on with it.”

“There a few different sorts of ghosts, or spirits or whatever words you use to describe us.

Firstly there are the shadows that come and go without any sort of purpose, stuck indefinitely between here and there; sad sorts that need help. They will sometimes be able to touch or even strike normal humans.

Then there are the ‘grey ladies’. Apparitions that are in wispy white, pass through walls and stuff but not all the time. They simply want to stay like this and cannot change.

Now we get to the interesting ones, those that are part ‘real’ and part ‘spirit.’ When you see them, it will probably be close up but, some part of them will be missing, appearing just like wisps of smoke, usually the legs.

And finally, there are those that are like me; looking and feeling quite solid, able to eat or even capable of drinking a good beer. You could pass me or others like me, out on license, in the street and not realise I was not of this world.”

I now needed another drink; my throat was decidedly dry and I was sufficiently solid that they may decide to rough me up a bit and then throw me out into the street. Not the kind of weekend I had envisaged. I reached for my glass of beer and gulped at what was left, placing the empty glass back on the bar.

“Barman, another one please,” I requested while trying to present a calm and steady voice while my knees were wobbling quite badly.

The look on the faces of these guys, including all those at the other side of the bar who had stopped drinking to listen in, was far from friendly.

“Honestly guys, I’m not fooling, I’m not taking the piss and you have to believe me, please.”

They were still glaring at me as a fresh pint of sixty shilling appeared on the bar. I immediately reached for it and took a good swallow. No one had moved a muscle; they were still staring at me.

“Somebody say something, please,” I tried.

“Anybody?”

“You really expect us to believe you,” the big guy asked. “Really,” he mockingly repeated.

I did not know what to say now; what could I say. I had spoken the truth and it seemed that was not good enough.

“Open the door laddie, now,” the command came calmly but firmly from the white stubble and overcoat and that caught me by surprise.

I took another swig of my beer, I needed that, and made a move towards the door. No-on moved a muscle to stop me. I opened the door.

There should have been the friendly streets I had been walking only a short while ago, but there wasn’t. All that was before me was the green pastures, rolling hills and babbling streams of where I had come from a short while ago.

I turned to my inquisitors; all were smiling faces.

“Apologies my friend,” the big man said “We were tasked with checking you out, to decide if you could have free license to go down there any time you wanted. The real ‘big man’ up there wanted to know and we were sent as a sort of task force to check you out.”

“Needless to say, you passed with flying colours, so to speak,” white stubble added, except he didn’t have any stubble now.

“Well done my friend,” a smooth measured voice came from behind me.

I turned and one of the seniors in his, or was it her, full length white robe smiled at me before slowly melting away.

I turned to face my previous inquisitors but they were no longer there.

Instead on a small table was a pint glass full of sixty shilling special just waiting to be brought to my lips and finish what had been a most unusual but overwhelmingly pleasant day.

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