Hey guys, this is my new-old story. A twisted tragic tale told to me by one of my buddies turned into something which was more soothing to hear and read. Wrote it a long time ago when I was still in my early teens so any grammere and foolish mistakes are due to my age, so please ignore if you can and enjoy.
TDRay1612
*****
"It's been twenty years, hasn't it Phil?" Mark Frontsnider questioned his best friend of fifty years.
Nodding his head with a small smile flickering on the lips of the sixty year old, Phil McCarthy replied "Yes Mark...it has."
With a long sigh Phil turned his attention away from his friend and stared at the long narrow paved road which waited for them for more than three decades. The soft rays of the sun elucidated the boulevard with long rows of lush green conifers exemplifying the panorama. The sight was still breathtaking for both of them, even after so many years.
"A lot has changed since we were last here," remarked Mark who, like his friend was taking in the awe-inspiring spectacle of nature presented before them.
Phil nodded. His friend was right. A lot had changed since the last time both of them travelled through the same trail which they took during the summer months of early nineteen fifties. At that time, both of them being in the zenith of their lives enjoying their freedom under the sun after the clouds of War had finally gave way to a possibly bright future.
Mark and Phil had grown up together, schooled together. Then they trained together as engineers. The War had come along and like all the men of their age, they were sent overseas to fight the ensuing threat posed by the forces of tyranny. They served together in Britain, fighting against the Germans over the control of Europe and its colonies. Both were captured and held in the same POW camp. Fortunately for them, the war ended soon after their capture - most certainly saving their souls from the ruthless torments under the callous Nazis.
After the War, they were shipped home, back to the States. After three years under constant gunfire, both of them had decided that they deserved a time off from the outside world and explore the land they fought so hard for. So before returning to their everyday jobs, they decided to walk the Worlds Way and explore what the countryside had to offer. This endeavor led to the place where both of them were standing the very moment - on the road leading to a small shabby town of Winsten. Forty years ago, the town had only a few buildings scattered along the dense uncut vegetation which festooned the area giving the place its own eerie dimension. But now a lot of it had changed. Though the woods were still there but its majesty which once ruled the shabby town, was dwarfed by the numerous new dwellings which could be seen sprouting out at regular intervals amongst the trees.
But sightseeing was not the reason those two were there. A very special place which they had kept under lock and key, in the depths of their intellect, was eagerly waiting for them, in that very town of Winsten.
"You still remember that night Mark?" asked Phil turning his gaze back to his friend who was still admiring the beauty which was laid before them.
"As clear as if it happened yesterday, my friend," replied Mark. "It was thirty first of March. Wasn't it?" Mark asked after sometime.
Nodding his head, Phil replied, "Yes It was. I sometimes think that what we experienced that night and on the next day maybe nothing but an elaborate prank. Maybe if we had stayed..."
Mark pursed his lips. A steady breeze was blowing across the region making the leaves of the trees rustle. "No!" Mark said firmly as he stared at his friend with disdain in his eyes. "It was not a prank."
"Yeah, you are right," admitted Phil. He cursed himself for his own stupidity. He should have kept his thoughts to himself. Trying to diffuse the situation, Phil said with bit playfulness in his voice, "Are you sure you could go the distance? It's one hell of a long walk." He eyed Mark's bulk with a sly grin on his face.
Mark understood his friend attempt to redeem himself. He didn't blame him for thinking that whatever had happened to them forty years ago was a prank.
"Yeah, you are right, "admitted Mark, as he message his protruding belly. "We'll have to see. Should be tough, but we've walked a lot further."
"We were a lot younger then," reminded Phil.
"That's true," admitted Mark. Years of detrimental habits had left him immensely ill favored against the endeavor they were about to begin. His friend Phil still possessed that slim, trim figure which made him so famous amongst the ladies in their youth. Too bad his friend never married.
But Mark had waited for too long for this day. The desire to visit the place which still haunted their dreams - was too sumptuous to let go - even if it meant a long exhausting trek for the two 'old men' with him being in the ill-shape he was.
"Come on then," Mark responded a last. "Must as well get it over with". He led the way, walking off down the paved road towards the town.
Forty years ago...
"Come on, let's get a drink," Mark barked enthusiastically.
"Well I suppose it's too dark to carry on anyway," Phil admitted.
The twenty something lads had travelled a lot after the end of the War. Returning home and meeting their loved ones, had left both of them in high spirits. But all the coaxing and fussing by their peers had left them jaded for an adventure. They were still young and before they settled down with their lives, one last exploit was needed. So after about a month of their return, Mark and Phil had set out on their expedition which they had waited for.
A month after their start, they had found themselves on the fringes of a scruffy old town of Winsten. Daylight was disappearing fast, leaving them with two choices - either continue walking till they reached the next big town which could take up almost the entire night or hunker down in some nearby watering hole. The latter option was accepted unanimously by both of them.
Their decision to hunker down had left them standing on the doorsteps of an old dilapidated looking pub where Phil expressed his desire for a drink. In the dark, it was not easy to make out what pub looked like. The only feature visible was that the building was two storied and had at least ten windows on the upper level.
"The place looks old," Phil commented after admiring the contour of the aging pub.
"As long as it serves ale, I don't give a damn of how it looks," replied Mark, clearly more exhausted than his friend. Though it was painful for Mark to admit - but after the War - the lavish treatment bestowed upon him by his folks had left him with a slight protruding belly; which he made sure was well hidden from his friend, who still looked the same lean and trim young man who fought beside him in the War. Family coaxing seeming to have no effect on his friend whatsoever.
The two young men made for the door.
Mark who followed his friend noticed the name of the pub - The Old Boar which was written on an old wooden board, whose letters had almost faded out. As Mark passed through the door, he noticed that it was made up of three panels of roughly sworn wood. It was difficult to see, but Mark could see no sign of a lock. "Strange?" he said to himself as they entered.
"Now that's what I call proper engineering," Mark commented looking up at the Hummer Bridge which connected the town of Winsten to Lanster with the mighty Vigara River flowing in between. The two engineers had stopped for a moment directly under the Hummer Bridge admiring the complex piece of engineering which went in building it.
"Bit bigger than anything we ever knocked up," commented Phil.
"Yup, you would know. You did bigger projects then I ever did," Mark said still admiring the conduit.
Phil had stayed in engineering all his working life. Mark however had become a writer a few years after the war. The so called 'hobby' had left a profound effect on his life, leaving him with a ton of cash and worldwide fame for his works, which was mainly based on their experience on the battle fields of World War Two. Phil didn't do badly himself. Working at a multinational company all his life, Phil had more than sufficient bank balance to enjoy his early retirement. The one thing which was similar for both of them was that - both of them remained unmarried throughout their lives. The reason - though known by both of them - was still something the two friends repudiated from discussing.
One mile further, the concrete road headed up another hill and further inland. The path was still lined by a bank of trees on either side, but now houses were built almost up to the edge of one side of the path. The sun shone through the branches causing strange temperature changes as they walked through shade and light.
At the top of this part of the track on the other side, the unmistakable sound of heavy traffic greeted them. In the early nineteen fifties, there was no road here, only a farmtrack with scarcely any vehicles trotting their way through it.
"Let's go then," ushered Mark, as he started walking towards the steep ascend which was waiting for them. "We have a long way to go".
Forty years ago...
Phil was the first to enter the bar. Wooden seats and empty barrels formed most of the furniture. Behind the counter four large wooden barrels were placed in a row, with all of them having a tap fitted to the front end and a spile wedged in the top.
Mark stood closely behind Phil and was taking a good look around the bar. Most pubs these days had mirrors behind the bar, but not this one, he observed. Looking round it was clear to him that this pub needed bringing into the mid twentieth century. No electric lights were to be seen anywhere in this establishment or for that matter any gas light fittings. He supposed that it was quite possible. The pub was high on the hill, miles away from the nearest town. Maybe electricity hadn't made it as far out. After the War, resources were sort and maybe the electric cables were still not set up in this part of the country.
The room was illuminated by candle light only. Behind each flickering lone flame was a polished metal plate, the sort of thing that was done in the middle ages. Mark turned his attention to one of the customers sitting on one of the empty barrels which served as chairs, by the counter. It looked as though the man had made his own cloths. With breeches and boots patched together from what looked like uncured hides and a ragged looking shirt covering the top, the man looked like he belonged to the seventeen century. Mark remembered the pictures he had seen of old settlers who came to the New World and settled here. Their apparel was similar to the gentleman who was nursing his bear on the counter. On looking closely, Mark found that all of the souls who were there in the pub were dressed in similar attire. Being from the city, Mark put this down to country living as he knew no better
Making their way towards the counter, the two men sat down on the empty barrels and took another look around the mysterious old fashioned pub.
"Two pints of ale please," asked Phil in a cheery voice. The thickset barman, who was nursing an empty flask, looked up towards them, with a disagreeable look on his rough face.
"Pints?" he grunted. The barman, who they later learned was also the landlord, was more of an ogre than man. Thick nose and a twisted face. The landlord's hands were covered in warts; his face was red and blotchy, almost like a plague victim. The towel he carried over his shoulder could be only be described as a rag - the colour of reddish earth. "Jugs, you mean?"
"Err...yes, jugs," Mark replied hurriedly, not wanting to incur the wrath of this man.
