The Pub

chapter 1 - the chapter

It was shaping up to be another boring day at Blake Svenson's irish style pub. All the regulars had come and gone by three except for Wendal Reid, who always hung on through most of the afternoon lull, nursing his glass of this or that. There were two other professional types sitting at a table, but they weren't talking to anyone but themselves.

"Is this all you plan to do now that you're a millionaire, Wendal?" Blake asked, mindlessly scrubbing the bottom of an already clean glass. "I'd suspect you should be off seeing the wonders of the world or enjoying a conversation with some fine young something."

"Nah," Wendal said casually, tossing a peanut at an ashtray. "I've seen everywhere I plan on seeing, and I've spoken to more loose women than any man should have to. I guess I never really thought about what to do once I got rich: I was just always concerned with getting there."

"Ain't that always the way," Blake said, chuckling to himself softly.

One of the million interchangable Patsy Cline songs hummed itseft softly out of the corner jukebox.

All of a sudden, the door slammed open and the shadow of a haggard man stood in the doorway, followed closely by the haggard man himself. His hair was askew, his tie was loose, his eyes wide and his mouth even wider: haggard was a really good way to describe him. He took a slow look at the bar and was met by stares all around, the two business-types looked back over their shoulders at him.

Slowly he staggered his way to the bar and took the seat next to Wendal, who got a look at the man through the corner of his eye.

Everyone waited for the man to speak, but he appeared to be in his own world. Finally, Blake walked over to him.

"Howdy do, stranger. If you don't mind my asking, what gets a fellar like you lookin so haggard?"

The man remained silent for a moment, comtemplating the bartop, then he looked up and said, "My name is Ryan Schreiber, and you will not believe what just happened."

chapter 2 - what just happened.

"What just happened?" asked one of the guys whose names I didn't catch.

"Let the man speak for himself!" said the other guy. I don't know why they were hanging out together, they didn't really seem like they liked each other very much.

"Well, what would you say if I told you I just saw a ghost?" Ryan said hauntingly (which is appropriate).

"I'd say I'd better fetch you a drink before you tell us anymore," said Blake, filling a mug to the brim-top with his Svenson brand ale.

Ryan grabbed the mug out of Blake's hand and downed it all in one massive swig. One of the guys at the table whistled softly at the sight.  The other guy quickly hit him on the head and told him to shut up.

"Thank you," said Ryan, whiping his mouth on his shirtsleeve. "Now, where was I? Ah, yes: the beginning. Well, about ten years ago, before I was the editor of even the school newspaper let alone the most occationally successful webzine on the information superhighway, I killed a man."

He paused a second for a effect. No one was talking beforehand, but they all would've shut up right then, had they been.

"That's right, I said it: I killed a man. Why, you ask? Because I could."

"That's the craziest thing I've ever heard, and I'm a millionaire!" said Wendal, morally incapable of accepting what he had just heard.

"Maybe I am crazy. Maybe we're all a little crazy."

"Hey man, speak for yourself. You're the one seeing ghosts and killing folks!" said one of the guys at the table.

Blake stepped in right away. "Now see here, are you going to let the man speak or do you want to leave my irish style pub?" he asked. Whenever he spoke, the world stopped what it was doing to listen.

The man lowered his head in shame, obviously interested in hearing how this man's story would turn out. The other guy glared at him.

"Thank you, barkeep," Ryan said earnestly. He had a lot of moxie for a guy his size. "Like I was saying about killing. His name was Mike Tocce and he jogged past my house every morning, high as a kite on some illegal substance. Finally, after years of this I decided to kill him, just to see if I could get away with it. I used to do fun little experiments like this all the time. So, one day as Mike Tocce was jogging by I threw a brick at his head from behind my fence, braining him on the spot. He fell like a sack of high joggers and I dragged him into my garden and buried him. And to this day I had gotten away with it....

chatper 3 - what just happened part 2

"I was getting into my office this morning when I felt an inexplicably cold chill run down my back. I thought it odd but didn't worry about it much. I had just finished either reviewing a cd or dictating to someone else how to review their cds (I forgot which) when the phone rang. 'Hello?' I asked, but the other end was silent. Then, just as I was about to hang up I heard the sound of someone smoking weed. I thought it odd but didn't worry about it much. I got back to work for a little while when I heard a knock at my office door, so I stopped what I was doing and opened the door to see who was there. When I opened it there was nobody anywhere nearby, I checked around the adjacent hallways but everyone was off to lunch or whatever. Then, as I was about to step back into my office I tripped over something. I looked down to find a brick on my doorstep. Shaken to the very core, I decided to stumble into a nearby bar."

chapter 4 - things heat up

"I guess that brings us up to speed," he said solemnly, taking a final swig of his brew and blessing himself quietly.

"Gadzooks," Wendal whispered to himself, not sure what to think of the eeriely typical ghost story he had just heard.

The bar remained quiet until Ryan raised his head, when he did he found that Blake was looking him straight in the eye.

"I know a guy who can help you," Blake said seriously. "But I'm going to need some time."

Ryan was about to answer him when the lights shut out in the bar.

"What the hell is going on?" yelled one of the guys. The other one told him to shut up.

"Hold on a second, I'm going to go find the fusebox," said Blake, taking control of the situation.

They all heard the sound of footsteps echoing off into the distance as Blake went down the hallway to find the fusebox. It was deathly silent in the pub, not even Wendal spoke. After a moment that seemed to last an eternity they all heard footsteps coming back from the direction that Blake went, accompanied by a glowing light.

"Did you find a candle?" asked Wendal.

His question answered itself when the light turned around the corner into full sight. It was a ghost with a bazooka!

"I've waited a long time for this," the ghost said slowly, kind of laughing as it said it. "You thought you could kill me, Schreiber? Now nothing can kill me. But, oh, my friend, I can kill you! Oh I can kill you right good."

The ghost leveled the bazooka with it's sights on Ryan's head.

BANG!

Ryan's eyes shut and he felt blood rush to his head  Everyone covered their ears when the shot was fired and it was still echoing through the room by the time they began to open their eyes again.

"What?" thought Ryan. "I'm not...dead?"

He opened his eyes to see the ghost with a hole in it's head and Blake standing behind him with a tommy gun.

The ghost looked surprised and then it vanished into thin air.

The lights all turned back on at once.

"Looks like you're off the hook, Ryan," Blake said, blowing the smoke from the barrel of his tommy gun. "Thank god it's reflexes were slowed for some reason."

"You saved my life!" Ryan said, amazed.

"All in a day's work," said Blake, putting the tommy gun back under the bar. "All I ask for is three dollars for the beer and peace of mind."

Ryan put a five on the table, tipped his hat to Blake and sauntered on out of the bar, a free man.

"How'd you know the ghost was allergic to bullets?" asked Wendal, amazed.

Blake sighed, coming to terms with what he had done.

"Because he was my son. That's something I should've done a long time ago. Now, he can finally rest in peace."

The two guys at the table started to yell at each other.

the end?