The Haunted Pub

by Melanie Tushmore

  Ryan couldn't believe he was hearing this. Ash bit his lip, obviously trying not to smile.

  "Dee," Ryan said, as nicely as possible. "Egg boxes full of sand are not going to do the same job as sound-proof tiles, which are made of foam."

  "Sand will still deaden the sound," Dee insisted. "I'll bring 'em along and do it for you. It'll work great."

  Ryan threw his hands up, defeated. "Sure, why not?"

  "Awesome, dude!" Dee grinned.

  "Stop saying dude," Ash told him.

  "No way, dude."

  "Okay," Ryan interrupted before any bickering could ensue. "Come and help me with this carpet, then." He herded them out of the room, and down the hall.

  Ash hung back, eyes darting over to the open doorway of Fizz's room. "Think I'm... gonna grab a coffee," he said casually.

  Ryan wasn't fooled. "Okay," he smirked. "See you in a few."

  Chapter 5

  The boy, Fizz, laid on his bed fully clothed, nestled in the bunched up sheets. His pale blue eyes stared vacantly, and the small device that now played his music—after the red-head had insisted upon it—was blaring tinnily into his ears. I watched him from the corner of the room.

  Those other boys had struggled past the open doorway several times, hefting their music equipment. I only knew they were machines to do with music because I'd seen similar models downstairs in the bar, set up for various rag-tag musicians to play in the evenings, when the bar was busiest.

  At least now I knew what made that incredible racket my new lodger listened to. Guitars powered by electricity. Simply fascinating. And drums. So many drums, it seemed impossible that one human being could play them all at once. The energy that was created through live music was electric in itself, and I was positively thrilled to see the colourful Ryan and these boys set up shop in the larger room, two doors down the hall. I could hear them discussing carpets, then Ryan was hurrying his companions away.

  One boy hung back, hovering at the door. It was the handsome Indian, I was pleased to see.

  I was out in the hallway in an instant. Standing behind him, I concentrated enough energy to push him into the room with a nudge. It was a gentle, persuasive trick. He was so focussed on Fizz, he didn't notice a thing.

  Hopping back into the room to watch them, I felt the grin spread over my face. Fizz finally noticed he had a visitor, and pulled the noisy ear plugs away as he sat up. His blue eyes were wide, panicked.

  "Hey." The boy smiled warmly. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt or anything." He waited, perhaps for Fizz to say something. Fizz stared at him blankly, as if wondering what on earth he could want. "I met you the other day," the boy said, looking somewhat bashful. "The name's Ash. I, um... I was gonna go grab a coffee. Not the crap they serve downstairs, a nice one, I mean. From that café up the road. Just wondered if you wanted anything?"

  Fizz still stared at him, not answering.

  "My treat," Ash pressed, a nervous laugh on the edge of his voice. "It's the least I can do, seeing as we're gonna make a racket later and likely deafen you."

  A great swell of emotion rose in Fizz. He was clearly confused, worried, yet excited by the offer from this boy. It was the first tinge of hope that I'd felt in him, so I didn't waste a second to crouch behind him and whisper in his ear, "Say yes."

  Fizz sat up sharply. "Yes?" he said, sounding confused.

  Ash looked relieved. "Great! What do you want? Flavoured latte? Cappuccino? Choccochino? Frappe with cream?"

  "Huh?" Fizz became flustered. "No, I mean—really, I don't—I don't want to put you to any trouble."

  "No trouble." Ash waved his concerns away. "Tell you what, I'll bring you a surprise." He flashed a cheeky smile, then he ran off, probably before Fizz had the chance to say no. Fizz was left on his own, clearly wondering what had just happened.

  I was pleasantly surprised, too. Some people were easier to manipulate than others, and I hadn't tried such a thing in a long time. Obviously, in his current miserable state, my lodger would prove no trouble at all to wrap around my little finger. I suppressed a chuckle, and resumed my place in the corner of the room, near the window.

  Fizz slowly sprang into action. As close to action as he was likely to get, at any rate. He turned on the lamp, as the daylight had faded with the setting sun. He also turned off his music, thank goodness, and smoothed down the covers on his bed.

  Aha, I thought to myself. So you do care what Ash thinks.

  Ryan and those other two louts returned, bumping and thudding down the hall with scraggy rolls of carpet. Ryan said hello to Fizz as he passed and afforded him a quick smile. Fizz watched them drag the carpet past his door, and I could feel a desire to help bloom within him. Unfortunately, it couldn't overcome the crippling shyness and insecurities this boy harboured. I tutted to myself. What a waste of life.

  With the distant chatter having resumed down the hall as Ryan and his cohorts prepared their room, Fizz seemed at a loss. He sat on his bed, waiting for Ash's return. Soon enough, soft footsteps preceded his arrival. I heard Fizz's breathing pick up, and his heart rate increase. Ash appeared at the door, holding two plastic cups. They were transparent, with domed lids, and straws stuck in their tops. The contents were thick and swirled with two tones of colour. I had seen the bar staff downstairs drink these strange confections by the gallon, sucking them up through the straws.

  As far as I could work out, fashionable fellows drank their coffee cold these days.

  "Hey," Ash greeted. "You got a choice of chocolate vanilla cheesecake, or cookies and cream. The fruit machine bust, so this was all they had. They did have mint, but I bloody hate mint flavours. I mean, why not just drink toothpaste? Or like... yeah." His gaze dropped shyly, likely aware of his babbling.

  I quickly moved myself behind Fizz, concentrating my energy into my right foot. Gently, I nudged his behind with a little kick, until he rose up from the bed. Fizz took tentative steps towards Ash, staring at the drinks. "What are they?"

  "Frappes. Which one do you want?"

  Fizz glanced up at him nervously. Indecision swirled through him, and the nerves choked his voice.

  Goodness me. We would never get anywhere at this rate. I glided in behind Fizz, positioning my hands under his left arm. Rather than actually touch him this time, I simply compressed the energy underneath his arm which, in turn, forced it to rise. Fizz found himself pointing at one of the drinks.

  Ash handed it to him. "Cool," he said. Fizz stood there, now clutching his drink. An adorable blush crept over his cheeks, perfectly visible on his pale skin. He stared down at the drink in his hands. Ash watched him, a smile curving his lips. The air between them sparked and charged with energy, yet neither boy said a word. I could hear their hearts thumping, and I reached my hands out, stroking through their energy. I basked in the palpable tension, so strong, so heady…

  "Oi, Ash!" a voice interrupted.

  Irritation rippled through Ash. He turned to the doorway and glared. One of the other boys stood there, a quizzical eyebrow raised. "What?" Ash said tightly.

  "Aren't you helping us get this shit together?"

  "Do I have to?"

  "Dee, leave it!" Ryan's voice called out. "I told you, we'd be fine."

  "Nah, that's hardly fair!" Dee called back along the hall. "If he's slacking off, then I'm slacking off."

  "All right, all right." Ash gave in. He flashed an apologetic smile at Fizz, who had briefly glanced up, only to look away again shyly. "See you later," Ash said softly. He turned and left the room.

  Out in the hall, he muttered under his breath.

  Dee stared at the drink and demanded, "What's that?"

  "Frappe," Ash replied.

  "What?" Dee was incensed. "Ash, you nancy! You can't drink those lame drinks and be in a punk band. A Crappe is not punk rock."

  "Oh, yeah?" Ash said. "Define punk rock."

  "What?"

  "Define punk rock," Ash repeated. There was humour in his voice.

  Fizz crep
t closer to the door, silently watching them argue.

  "Well, punk rock doesn't come in fancy-pants, corporate-branded cups!" Dee huffed.

  Ash took a long, noisy slurp through the straw. "Tastes pretty good, though. I suppose you'd rather we drank our own piss, or something like that?"

  "What you're drinking is piss."

  "I think you're wrong."

  The energy between the warring boys was steadily building. Not wanting it to go to waste, I slipped past Fizz, and into the hall.

  "You don't get it!" Dee snapped. "If anyone sees you drinking that shit, our rep's ruined."

  "Rep?" Ash laughed, but the laugh had a hard edge to it. "What rep? Do me a favour."

  "Do yourself a favour!"

  "Guys." Ryan appeared between them. His aura was strong, calming, and immediately washed over the two boys. "Chill out, yeah? It's doesn't matter."

  Ash shrugged, then took another slurp of his drink.

  "Whatever, dude," Dee snorted.

  "Quite," Ash said.

  Ryan herded them back along the hall. "Awright, Fizz," he called over his shoulder. Fizz quickly ducked back into his room, still clutching his drink.

  I grinned to myself, then followed Ryan's boys.

  * * * *

  After almost an hour setting up their various instruments and bickering with each other, Ryan and his band spent another hour cranking their machines up high and drowning each other out. Electrical currents surged through the room, and the air reeked of sweat, sweetly intoxicating. There was more bickering over who sounded loudest, with no conclusion met. My head swam from the amount of energy they had.

  Of course, I had gently encouraged their irritations. The four of them were wound so tight anyway; all I had to do was a gentle push here, a careful pull there. It was like conducting an orchestra of bratty children. The way they expelled even more energy into their songs—albeit not exactly in time—was breath-taking.

  As soon as they descended downstairs, unwittingly pulling me behind them, their irritable tempers dispersed. "I felt like I had a headache before, but it's gone now," Ash commented.

  "Yeah." Dee frowned. "Me too. That room is really—"

  "Stuffy?" Ash ventured. "Close?"

  Ryan shivered, although no one noticed. I could feel the chill pass over his sensitive skin. "Let's just go have a drink, yeah?" he suggested. I followed them downstairs, through the bar, and into the reasonably-quiet ground floor. The bar maid, Rachel, and that young, obnoxiously loud boy, Sammy, served them drinks.

  Along the bar, I nodded to two spirits who sat amongst the living patrons, eyeing the drinks they'd never be able to touch or taste. Fools. Why waste away, pining for alcohol, when the living had so much energy to give?

  Ryan and his friends took their drinks, and made their way outside. These days, smokers were banished to the courtyard, at the mercy of the elements. Luckily for them, it was a dry night. I followed them outside, and caught a glimpse of Amelia, another spirit, in the farther end of the courtyard. It would be pointless calling out to her; Amelia wandered as endlessly and lonely as she'd done before.

  Ryan and his boys huddled together against the wind, lighting their cigarettes. They congratulated themselves on their first practise in the pub. The other boys commented how well it went and asked Ryan when the next one would be.

  Poor Ryan looked aghast, and I couldn't help but chuckle. He was certainly more in tune to his surroundings than most people. I knew he could sense my presence at times. When he appeared to relax some, I passed a hand through him gently. He shivered at my touch, and I barely held in a moan at the sheer amount of nervous energy and tension stored up inside him.

  Having Fizz here upset Ryan, that much was clear. Because it was Fizz who had stolen the attentions of Ryan's beautiful red-head. I smiled to myself. Where was Ginger, anyway? I moved away from the boys, floating through the bar. I was high on their energy. As I passed through the staff's private entrance, I spotted that familiar piece of rumpled paper, squashed into the waste paper basket. Or bin, as they were wont to call it.

  Making sure no one was looking, I focussed the energy in my hand so I could gently pick up the paper. "Rebecca," I called, slowly ascending the stairs. I had to walk rather than project myself, if I wanted Rebecca to find me.

  Her light, skipping footsteps echoed from behind. I stopped, and turned to smile at the spirit of the young girl who'd died in what were now the cellars, years before I was even born. "Hello, Rebecca. Do you want to play hide the treasure map again?"

  She looked at the paper I held and nodded her head. "Good girl. Here you go." I handed her the paper, careful that she could take a hold of it. "Concentrate hard, hold onto it. That's right, Rebecca. Now, I want you to hide it in Sammy's bedroom."

  She frowned in thought.

  "Sammy's bedroom is the third door from the bathroom," I reminded her. "One, two, three. Third door."

  "The messy one?" she whispered. I nodded at her, pleased she was concentrating so much. These games were obviously good for her.

  "That's my girl," I praised. "Now, hurry. They'll be coming upstairs soon."

  Rebecca let out a giggle of delight, then bounded up the stairs. With her occupied, I was able to project myself up, to the exact place in the building Ginger was: the kitchen.

  The staff had a room set aside as their lounge, but Ginger spent a lot of time in the kitchen. The room was spacious, even with the battered dining table and chairs taking up half of it. The kitchen felt very central in the building. It was the same place the officer's mess had been once, and it still carried that strong aura.

  Ginger lounged in his chair, a chilled bottle of beer held in his hand. He absently stared at the flickering box at the other end of the table—the television—but I could see him keeping one eye on his cousin, also sitting at the table. Fizz had no doubt been extracted from his room and fetched here to eat his supper. It was late, but they all kept late hours due to the bar downstairs. Fizz hunched over his plate, pushing the food around with his fork. I could feel the displeasure emanating from him, the self-loathing and wretchedness growing.

  Nothing at all like he'd felt when the lovely Ash had brought him that bizarre drink. It was almost as romantic as bringing him a bouquet, I thought. Very modern. Fizz hadn't had a chance to feel guilty about the interaction then, not while I was there. Perhaps I was more of an influence over him that I realised.

  I swept around the table, standing behind Fizz. Laying my hands at the base of his spine, I tickled my fingers up its length. He shuddered suddenly, hissing a breath in through his teeth.

  Ginger looked at him. "You all right?"

  Fizz shivered again, but nodded.

  "Are you cold?" Ginger was up off his seat. "I'll get you a jumper."

  "No," Fizz said quietly. "I'm fine, really."

  Ginger smacked his beer onto the table with unexpected force, glaring down at Fizz. "Well, you're not fine, are you? Because nobody your age stays in every single day of their bloody lives. You need to get out, Jamie."

  Fizz curled in on himself, hunching over. "No, no, please. I don't—I…" The tears welled up. He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to stop them, and covered his mouth with his hands. "I'm sorry," he said, voice hitching. The sobs were but a breath away.

  Ginger sighed, visibly deflating. "Jamie, you don't have to be sorry, for God's sake. Quit saying sorry all the time. I just want you to have a life, you know?"

  "I'm sorry," Fizz sobbed out. The tears rolled off his cheeks and dropped into his barely-touched dinner. "I'm sorry."

  "Stop being sorry." Ginger crouched beside him, rubbing his back. Still behind Fizz, I held my hands out and closed my eyes. The energy from both of them was brimming with nerves and despair. So, so strong.

  "Look..." Ginger sighed. "If I make you an appointment at the doctor, will you go?"

  Fizz looked up at him, clearly distraught at the suggestion. "No!"

  "Or we can have one visit you here?"
Ginger said. "You won't even have to leave—"

  "No, please, I can't! It doesn't help; they don't do anything."

  "But you've had meds before. I talked to your mum; she said you should be taking them every day."

  "Pills don't help." Fizz sobbed again. "All they want me to do is take pills, but they don't work. I don't want to be forced into meds again, please!"

  "Okay, okay," Ginger soothed. "You don't have to do anything right now, all I'm saying is—"

  "Please, can I go to my room now?" Fizz interrupted. The tears streamed down his face.

  "Jamie, you need to—"

  "Please, Daniel."

  That little voice was so small, so pathetic. Ginger obviously realised there would be no conclusion drawn tonight. "All right," he said, standing up. "But we're not done talking about this."

  Fizz stood, then hurried from the room, desperate to escape. Ginger found his packet of cigarettes, pulled one out, and lit it. The first exhale of smoke became a long sigh. He muttered under his breath, "How am I supposed to deal with this?"

  "You okay?"

  At the voice, Ginger turned to see Ryan standing in the doorway. He drew in a sharp breath, obviously trying to right himself. "Yeah," he said tightly. "Yeah, fine."

  Ryan hesitated. Unspoken questions burned in him, until one finally bubbled to the surface. "I... I've got something stronger," he offered, gesturing with his eyes at Ginger's beer. "It's in my room, if you fancy a drink." The invitation was made. Ryan was already tipsy, and still keyed up from playing his guitar earlier. His face was faintly flushed, those freckled cheeks tinged soft pink. His eyes were bright as he stared at Ginger, waiting for a response.

  Oh, the way this boy looked at him sent shivers down me.

  This time, it was Ginger who hesitated. He seemed to hear Ryan's question, hear it for what it could mean, but he brushed it aside. "It's all right," he said quietly. He went to a cupboard, rifling through it. "Got some whiskey to finish."

  Disappointment nearly crushed Ryan but, admirably, he didn't let it show. Ginger took two glasses, filled them with whiskey and placed one at an empty seat. It wasn't quite what Ryan had been hoping for, but he wasn't about to turn it down. He moved into the room and asked, "Ice?"