The Essence - part one of three (standard:mystery, 1818 words) [1/3] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Updated: Jan 03 2009	Views/Reads: 4414/2603	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A cyclist seeks refuge from a snow storm and encounters a strange village

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

Speed seemed to be the priority with these guys, and I'd gone unnoticed,
I was sure; and so covered in my white blanket I headed into the 
village main. 

‘Where's the police station?' I asked a passer-by. 

He looked at me with wide unblinking eyes, as if what I'd asked hadn't
actually got through, then pointed at a narrow side street further up. 
‘Thanks,' I said, pushing my cycle past him. ‘It closed two years ago,' 
he mumbled, and head bowed continued his trudge through the snow. 

‘Cheers for that.' Now what? Passing a butcher's shop and small general
store I noticed a pub sign creaking on the other side of the street, 
“The Miller's Arms,” it looked like, but like most other things now it 
was wearing a mask of white. I trudged across, secured my cycle to a 
lamp-post and went inside. 

The lounge was closed so I went into the other bar, I can't say it
struck me as the most savoury of places, tasteless peeling brown walls 
and all, but it was obviously a regular's haunt and as often happens 
when a stranger enters a tightly knit gathering all eyes turned in my 
direction. 

I crossed the wooden floorboards to the bar, needless to say the
regulars didn't make way for me, but I was tall enough to be spotted by 
the guy serving. 

‘Can you call the police,' I yelled. 

He screwed his eyes, ‘Why, what's up?' 

‘There are a couple of guys unloading goods- they've changed the number
plates of a Jeep. I've seen them do it.' 

‘Where'd you say this was?' 

‘Down the street where the smallholdings start,' I felt the heat of a
dozen pairs of eyes on me. 

‘I'll alert the coppers,' the guy said stone-faced, drying a glass with
a towel and not seeming in any hurry, ‘would you be wanting anything 
else?' 

I was wanting something else, like a drink and a room if he had one, but
just then I wanted him to get on and call the police. 

‘I'm just making my mind up,' I said, and he seemed to get the message,
placing the glass in an overhead rack and proceeding to a room at the 
back where I saw him talk on a wall phone. 

A couple of minutes later he came back and said simply, ‘Done.' A
regular pushed past and I squeezed into the gap he'd left. 

‘I'll have a pint of cider please,' I said. 

‘No cider I'm afraid,' he said tersely. 

‘A pint of bitter then?' 

‘Nope, none of that either,' he tilted his head back and I noticed the
locals drinking from glasses containing a light cloudy liquid, that but 
for the green tint might have resembled scrumpy. ‘I'll try some of that 
then.' 

The landlord sniffed, glanced uneasily at his regulars and shook his
head, ‘Last of it's gone.' 

Feeling distinctly irritated, ‘What have you got then?' I asked. 

‘Water, no charge.' 

Thanks for nothing, I thought. What a pub this was – no beer, nothing,
apart from the cloudy green liquid the locals were drinking. I noticed 
then, that the bar was also bare of spirits. 

I shook my head, taking a tumbler of water the landlord poured from a
tap, ‘I'm looking for a room,' I said edgily, ‘any ideas?' 

‘I'll check what's available.' 

Some progress of sorts, I thought, watching the regulars continue
drinking whatever it was they were drinking. I wasn't sure whether it 
was my presence but for a local bar there was a distinct lack of 
conversation in the place, plenty of glazed eyes though and mostly 
staring in my direction. It felt as though the window by which I'd sat 
was actually a screen. 

Then a couple of guys came in and I realised with mounting consternation
they were the two I'd reckoned to be on dodgy dealings – I didn't know 
whether to leap up, shout that's them or keep quiet. I felt them 
looking at me, hostile glares if ever there were any and I was filled 
with an urge to bolt for the door, but to my alarm one of the big guys 
stood blocking it while the other leaned over the bar. I noticed the 
locals parted for him readily enough. 

A quick word, a nod from the landlord and he was heading back – in my
direction, ‘You the fella wants accommodation?' It didn't sound so much 
a question, more of an accusation and his rough voice reeked of some 
foul substance. I looked at the big check-shirted guy and then at his 
mate, also wearing a lumberjack shirt, ‘Well, I was hoping for a room 
here,' I said trying to duck out of it. 

‘Ain't none available, it's us or nothin' he barked; with anxiety
climbing quicker than spider-man up a wall I realised that “nothing” 
wasn't an option. I was promptly frogmarched out to their Jeep. ‘Get 
in,' the bald headed one snapped. 

‘My bike –‘ I pointed shakily. 

‘Ain't no accommodation for that, now get in.' 

I didn't exactly get in as get bundled into the back, whereupon the Jeep
took off at speed through the snow. 

‘Heard you been doin' a little reporting fella.' 

I sighed, feeling as tense as a spring coil; it wasn't exactly something
I could deny. I just knew you were up to no good,' I mumbled, the words 
seeping out despite my attempts to seal them in. 

‘You just keep that gob of yours buttoned,' the driver said over his
shoulder, best my brother's temper gets the better of him.' He nodded 
towards the big bearded guy who turned with a toothy grin, an ugly one 
at that. It struck me then, that evil as it was, this was the first 
smile I'd encountered since entering the godforsaken place. 

Just as they'd bundled me into the Jeep they bundled me out, concealed
by overgrown foliage from anyone daft enough to be out in what was now 
a blizzard; I was forced into the barn I'd seen them unloading boxes 
from. 

They shoved me inside and I fell flat on my face. I felt them raking my
pockets but it wasn't my wallet they were interested in, rather my 
mobile phone which the bald headed guy who'd driven wedged into his 
pocket. 

The door slammed shut followed by the sound of a padlock being secured.
I heard the Jeep start up and crunch through the snow, the growl of its 
diesel engine slowly dying away. Either left to rot or await my fate I 
thought of my friend Donna who I'd called shortly before I left. She'd 
be worried but I'd no way of reaching her now. 

To be continued ... 


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