The Inn With A Past

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.

The landlord put two mugs down on the bar; they looked homemade, rough and irregular in shape that summed up this place in Phil's eyes - rough and very irregular. From under the counter, his wart ridden hand took a large jug which was in a similar style to the mugs; he turned and filled it from one of the barrels. Once full, he slammed it down on the bar,ale slopping over the sides.

"Quarter."

Mark looked at Phil, who returned his blank look. "Sorry?"

"Quarter," he repeated.

From his pocket, Mark too a handle full of coins. "Err...I don't have a quarter of..."

"That one," The landlord pointed at the one penny piece in his hand.

For a jug of beer Mark gladly handed the penny over. The two walkers sat down in the corner out of the way, on a small wooden table. Once seated, the locals who were till then watching them earnestly, returned to their drinks and conversations.

"What's going on here?" Phil's voice was barely a whisper.

"I don't know, it's like we are back to the middle ages," admitted Mark. "It's fantastic, isn't it?"

"No it isn't. We drink up then go." Phil had a feeling that all was not right. The strange pub with equally strange people, were making him wary and he wanted to leave the place as soon as possible.

"What! He only wanted a quarter of a penny for a jug of ale, we've got three left in the barrel," countered Mark who was already halfway through his drink.

"But..." Phil stopped abruptly. Both of them became aware that the noises in the pub had stopped all of a sudden. Everyone in the pub were staring at them.Mark and Phil were feeling increasingly uncomfortable under their intense gaze.

Mark was the first to speak, as he whispered in his friend's ears, "Maybe we should..."

"You two!" shouted the landlord who remained standing behind the bar. "Where are you from?"

"Is he talking to us?" Phil asked.

"I think so, best answer him. If not we might not out of here alive," whispered Mark. "Boston," replied Mark.

"Boston," the barman repeated staring at them with an intense gaze which send shiver down both of their spines.

"You're not local then?" asked a voice. It could have emanated from anywhere from in the mass of bodies hidden in the dark corners of the pub.

"Yes," answered Mark.

"This is really freaking me out," Phil said in a hushed worried tone.

"Don't worry. These people are just a bit different from us, it's their way."

"I don't fancy stopping here tonight." Phil was looking cautiously at his surroundings with a bit of fear etched on his face.

"We can't go on tonight," Mark admonished his friend. "The roads in both directions goes through the wood, we wouldn't stand a chance. If we tried walking tonight, we could end up in the quarry. Anyway it's not that bad here." The ale was starting to take effect on him, it always hit Mark first, Phil's tolerance was a little higher.

Phil reluctantly admitted Mark's reasoning. If they tried to walk in the darkness through the woods, they could get lost and who knows what dangerous animals inhabited the woods. Maybe Mark was right, after all they would be under cover here and warm. They could leave tomorrow at the first sight of dawn.

Phil noticed the landlord was speaking to what they took for his wife. She was just about as ugly as he was. Were they talking about them or was it just they're paranoia?

The woman disappeared into the back room; her instructions seemed to have been given.

"Are you two gents having another jug?" asked the landlord. This time his voice was calm and friendly.

"Err...yes." The boys replied almost simultaneously. They didn't know which was worse, the landlord being friendly or offensive. Mark began to stand to make the trip to the bar to retrieve the bear.

"No, no. I'll bring it over." Once full, the landlord brought the jugs of ale over to their table.

The brew was not the normal type of ale the boys were used too. It was very watery and not the remotest sign of a head on it. It did though have the desired effect on the senses that all good liquor should have. After the second jug, Phil and Mark's apprehensions had disappeared and they were quite enjoying themselves, even conversing with some of the locals.

It may have been the effect of the ale, but no one in the pub seemed to know anything of modern day life. The War had not been mentioned. Entering any public place especially a pub, the talk was of nothing else but the devastating tales the War had caused. Where the locals enjoying a joke at the expense of the two visitors who had so recently arrived in the pub?

"Will you be staying the night?" the landlord interrupted the conversation, with a smile.

"I think we may have too," Mark said with a smile on his face. This could turn out to be a good night after all. At least they won't have to spend the night under some tree in the woods.

"You'll have to share."

"That'll be fine." Mark laughed. "I'm sure we can be trusted with each other." Phil joined in the joke laughing loudly. The whole pub also joined them and ripple of laughter circled the entire pub.

The last jugs of ale was finished and taken away, only the dregs remained and the two mugs sat on the table. Most of the locals had left; curiously passing comments such as 'have a good night' and 'enjoy yourselves' to Mark and Phil as they left. The two boys would reply politely not knowing what else to say. Only half a dozen remained now, finishing their drinks.

The back door behind the bar opened all of a sudden and two young girls came into the bar. They were in their late teens, probably twins by the look of them, and what a sight those two were.

The two young ladies were dressed in fashionable mauve and olive colored gowns with their silky locks cascading over their slender shoulders. Both Mike and Phil felt that they were looking at an eternal painting with two angels illuminating the scene against a dark backdrop. The only thing missing was a glowing halo above each of their head.

Both of them were brought out from their daydreaming by the loud voice of the landlord who was closely monitoring their facial expressions on seeing the two beautiful girls. "Ah, I seen you have met my daughters, they will show you to your rooms. Catherine, Mary say hello."

Both the girls gave a shy look and quietly offered their greeting. Phil was sure that they had said "My Lords" and the end of the muttered greeting. The sight of the two girls acted as a sobering agent for both of them.

"Rooms?" Phil asked. "I thought we were sharing?"

"Oh you will be," said the master of the house with a wink towards them.

Both Mark and Phil gulped down the last remaining ales in their mugs with uneasiness. They didn't like where the matter was advancing. Sure, they loved admiring beautiful girls but neither of them ever went all the way. With the War going on, their chances with the opposite sex, where few and far between. Looking back at the girls, both of them noticed that neither of them looked older than nineteen. Was this the reason the landlord had made them drunk - so that he could pimp away his own daughters to them. But why?

"We will show you the way My Lords" answered the one who was standing behind Phil. Her gaze was towards the ground and by the look on her and her sister's face, Phil was sure, both the girls were scared to their death but were hiding it like a pro.

Seizing his friend, Phil got up from in stool and excused both of them to the washroom situated on the other dimly lit corner of the pub. Once inside, Phil and Mark both rushed to the nearby water bucket's to wash their faces and bring them back to the present. There was no wash basin. The only source of water being the bucket partially filled with water, placed in the corner.

"Dude, that ogre is selling away his girls to us," Mark cried out. His eyes were bloodshot red.

"Yeah I can see." Shaking his head Phil continued, "I am drunk, not blind. Poor girls - they don't want it man. I can see it in their faces."