The Haunted Pub

by Melanie Tushmore

  "I can—I can go," he said. "I'll leave you in peace, I won't bother you again."

  "You're not leaving. Until I find a way to escape this wretched building, I'm trapped here." He inched closer, smiling. "Unless I have a some body to leave with."

  Fizz felt his chest constrict, his breathing quicken. Dully, he realised he was on the verge of a panic attack. The pills must have staved it off so far. He forced himself to ask, "W-why are you here?"

  "They killed me."

  "Who?"

  "Men." Finlay's eyes blinked away the blackness, for a moment shining clear brown and bright. He looked so young then, young and vulnerable. "Soldiers, here in the barracks. Before the new building went up. They killed me."

  Fizz swallowed hard. "I-I'm sorry."

  "So am I." Finlay's face darkened, his eyes clouding again to black. "The major sent them for me, that bastard. He was jealous because I wouldn't see him anymore. It's not fair."

  Fizz took a gasping breath as an overwhelming wave of despair hit him. They were feelings he recognised, but they weren't his own. The first sting of tears blurred his vision. He blinked, letting them fall down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry," he said, for he truly was.

  The young man glared at him. "Do you want to know what they did? It happened in this very room." He crawled forward, leaning into Fizz. The bruises on his face swelled, and his skin darkened with colour. Blood spilled forth from his head, matting his hair, streaming down his face in bright red rivers. The cut on his lip split wide as he smiled, blood oozing between his teeth.

  "Do you want me to show you?"

  Chapter 13

  Ryan heard the side door slam. Assuming it was Ginger, he raced around the bar, and into the stairwell. No one was there, but the door was only just closing, like someone had recently walked through it. There wasn't a sound on the staircase, so whoever it was must have gone outside. Ryan opened the door and stuck his head out. He looked right, seeing only a young couple with a push-chair down the road. He looked left and saw Ash walking away briskly.

  "Ash?" he called out. "Ash!"

  He didn't turn around. Maybe he didn't hear? He was quite a way off, almost at the traffic lights now. Ryan stared after him, as realisation dawned. If Ash was storming away in a huff, then where was Fizz?

  Ryan dashed back in, yanking the door shut. "Rachel! I'm just going upstairs!"

  He didn't wait for her reply. The bar wasn't busy, and Rachel could cope. Ryan took off, climbing the stairs two at a time. Why did he have a bad feeling about whatever this was? His heart pounded; he told himself it was just the exertion of running. After the two flights of stairs, he paused. Music was coming from the pub kitchen down the hall, but it wasn't Matt's usual aggressive black metal.

  It sounded like pop music.

  If he hadn't been in a hurry, Ryan might have gone to check on that. As it was, he kept going. He punched in the security code on the staff door, leaving it open in his haste. He took a deep breath and ran up the next flight of stairs.

  "Fizz?" he called when he reached the top, only slightly out of breath. The TV was on in the kitchen. Ryan hurried inside. It smelt of coffee and spice, but there was no one here. He turned and ran back down the hall, into the pigeon loft, then Fizz's room. His relief at seeing Fizz lying on his bed was quickly overshadowed by concern. When Fizz was in bed, he usually curled up on his side, listening to his music.

  Right now, the boy was sprawled on his back, one arm flung out, as if he'd fallen there.

  Heart in his throat, Ryan burst into the room. It felt cold; usually it was hot and stuffy in here. A chill brushed over his bare arms. "Fizz?" Ryan crouched beside him, checked his face, his pulse. Fizz was breathing—thank God—though the breaths sounded wheezy. Fizz wasn't asthmatic, was he? Ryan tried to think. No, he was sure Ginger would have mentioned it if he was.

  "Fizz?" Ryan cupped his cheek, surprised at how cold his skin felt. "Fizz, are you okay?"

  The boy's eyelids fluttered.

  "Fizz?"

  "Ash," he breathed. "Tell Ash..."

  "Yes?"

  "Tell Ash... I'm sorry."

  "What?" Ryan's mind jumped to a hundred conclusions at once. He tried to keep a hold of his panic. "Fizz, what happened? Are you okay?"

  "I'm sorry," he said, the words barely a whisper. "He's here... he..." His breathing was ragged, like he was struggling for air. Ryan thought he saw mist coming out of Fizz's mouth. Was he cold? Was the room cold? But this place was usually so hot.

  Oh, no, Ryan thought. He's ill. He'd caught some sort of fever. They never should have put him in this stupid pigeon loft. Ryan pulled his mobile phone from his pocket. He'd have to call Ginger. Maybe he could leave out the part about Ash storming off. Why on earth would Ash leave Fizz like this?

  Ryan didn't get it. There had to be more to it than he realised, but he could deal with that later. He pressed his speed dial. The screen on his phone crackled, then blipped, before disappearing entirely. Even holding down the power button wouldn't bring it back to life. Ryan couldn't believe it. Did his phone need charging? He'd have to use the phone downstairs.

  Well, first things first, he wanted to get Fizz out of this God-awful room. Ryan slipped his phone away, then grabbed Fizz's arm, trying to loop it over his neck to support him. "Fizz, hold onto me. Can you walk?"

  Fizz moaned in reply. Ryan tried to yank him up, as gently as he could. The boy's eyes opened, staring around blindly before he focussed on Ryan. "Oh," he said, a smile curving his lips. "Where are we going?"

  "Can you stand?" Ryan asked. "Lean on me."

  "Mmm, with pleasure," he murmured. His arms wrapped around Ryan, holding on tight. Ryan was about to put all his effort into hoisting Fizz up, when Fizz surprised him by covering his mouth with his, tongue slipping in to taste him. With a squeal, Ryan dropped Fizz back on the mattress, and almost fell on top of him. Fizz held onto him, trying to pull him down.

  "Fizz! What the hell?" Ryan struggled away. Fizz laid back, stretching his arms out over his head. He chuckled, low and dirty. Ryan stilled, his confusion making him slow.

  What the hell's going on?

  As he stared at Fizz, the edges of his body looked blurry. But that couldn't be real, could it? Unless whatever was in this room was making Ryan ill, too? Affecting his sight?

  A shiver passed over him, jump-starting his reactions. Ryan hated leaving Fizz here, but he needed help. He stood, and hurried out of the pigeon loft without looking back. He went down the stairs, through the open door. Taking several deep breaths, he quickly walked along the hall to the pub kitchen, trying to get his thoughts in order.

  "Matt?" he said, pushing open the swing door. "Are you—"

  Matt was there, with Sammy. They'd obviously been standing close together, in the midst of some deep discussion, but as soon as Ryan entered, they flew apart. Ryan didn't have the wherewithal to decipher what that meant.

  "Matt," he said again. "Can you... can you come and help me a second?"

  Matt's cheeks flushed. "Can't it wait?"

  "No," Ryan said firmly. "No, it really can't."

  "It's fine," Sammy mumbled. Matt looked at Sammy, an undecipherable look passing between them.

  Ryan didn't have time to stand around debating this. "Matt. Please."

  "All right, all right," Matt said, moving into action. Ryan held the door open for him, then dashed back along the hall. Matt sensed his haste, and hurried to catch up. "What's going on?"

  "There's something wrong with Fizz," Ryan said over his shoulder. They passed through the staff door, then up the stairs.

  "Wrong? What do you mean, wrong?"

  "I don't know," Ryan said. "I just want to get him out of that room."

  They reached the top of the stairs, and stood at the threshold to the pigeon loft. Matt gazed into it with a frown. "And put him where, exactly?"

  "Anywhere but there," Ryan said. "I don't know. We can put him in my room."

  Matt's frown intensified. "What happene
d?"

  "Look, I don't know, okay? I think he's ill or something: caught some kind of bug. Come on." Ryan steadied himself, then strode back into the pigeon loft. Having Matt close behind him steeled his nerves. "There." Ryan pointed at Fizz, still lying on his bed. The boy wheezed his breaths, lying quite still.

  Matt was hesitant. "So, you want me to just pick him up, or what?"

  "Yeah." Ryan swallowed. "I tried to, but I couldn't do it. I'm not strong enough to lift him."

  Rolling his eyes, Matt huffed out a breath. "All right. If I catch this cold, I'm blaming you, Ryan."

  It was on the tip of Ryan's tongue to reassure Matt, but his words stuck. Please, he thought, please don't let this be contagious.

  Matt approached the mattress, bent his knee, and gathered Fizz into his arms. He rose up, lifting Fizz with ease. "Great," Ryan said in relief. "Let's go." He walked backwards out of the room, watching as Matt followed.

  Matt muttered under his breath, walking carefully. He manoeuvred Fizz through the doorway, then along the hall. Fizz sighed, squirming against him. Ryan hoped he'd stay asleep just a little longer. Ryan was first out of the pigeon loft. He kept walking backwards, watching what Matt was doing. The last thing they needed was for Matt to trip.

  Matt crossed the threshold, stepping down into the stairwell with Ryan. "Great, okay," Ryan said. "Now just—" He paused as Fizz stirred, winding his arms around Matt's neck. Ryan watched Fizz press his face close, his tongue darting out to lick a long line from Matt's thick neck, all the way up to his cheek.

  Matt froze, his face a study in shock.

  If the whole situation hadn't been quite so worrying, Ryan might have laughed.

  "What the fuck is this?" someone demanded. Ryan turned at the sound, seeing Sammy halfway up the stairs below them. He was glaring ahead, his eyes fixed on Matt and Fizz.

  Oh, brother. Ryan finally put two and two together. "Sammy," he said carefully. "We've just—I mean—Well, there's something wrong with Fizz."

  "Yeah, I'll fucking say!" Sammy scowled furiously. "What the fuck is up with him?"

  Ryan was taken aback at the ferocity of Sammy's words. Matt too, was still in shock as Fizz continued to lick and kiss his neck.

  "Matt." Ryan indicated frantically. "Come on, put him in my room. Then you can put him down."

  Matt's eyes were wild with panic, but he kept hold of Fizz and followed Ryan along the hall. Sammy followed them. "What the hell's going on, Ryan? And where's Ash? I thought this little emo prick was with him?"

  "Sammy, calm down," Ryan pleaded. "Go and call Ginger, I need him back here."

  "Why should I? Moody git practically bit my head off earlier."

  "And you deserved it!" Ryan snapped, as Sammy started back in surprise.

  "Ryan." Matt said warningly. "Ease off, okay?"

  Ryan glanced at Matt, seeing the genuine concern behind the frown on his face. Feeling guilty and self-conscious, Ryan mumbled, "I'm sorry, Sammy."

  Sammy only raised an eyebrow. He folded his arms and watched them. Matt stumbled the last few steps into Ryan's bedroom, managing to deposit Fizz on the bed with a grunt. Ryan was right beside them, trying to untangle Fizz's arms from Matt's neck.

  "Get him off me," Matt hissed.

  "I'm trying," Ryan hissed back. "What's going on with you and Sammy?"

  Matt floundered. "We—it's—What's that got to do with anything?"

  "Sorry I asked." Ryan succeeded in freeing Matt, who took several paces back. Ryan turned his attention to Fizz. The boy's eyes were open, and he gripped onto Ryan's wrists with surprising strength.

  "Ash," he breathed. "Where's Ash?"

  "I don't know." Ryan tried to prise his wrists free, but it wasn't working. He twisted his head to look at Matt. "Call Ginger. Get him back here. Please."

  Matt nodded slowly. Sammy poked his head around the door, glaring daggers. "That brat is bad news."

  * * * *

  Matt stepped into the hall, averting his eyes from the fierce gaze of one very pissed-off Sammy. "Can I... er, can I borrow your phone? Mine's still missing."

  Sammy's glare intensified. "So is mine. If you want to tell me where you put it, you can use it."

  "Huh?" Matt blinked at him. "Sammy, I never took your phone."

  Sammy directed his glare toward Ryan's room and the occupants inside. "Well, somebody did."

  Through the open door, they could hear Ryan trying to placate Fizz. "Matt!" he called out. "Seriously, can one of you guys call Ginger? Like, now!"

  Matt ran a hand through his hair nervously. "Look, come on. I'll use the phone downstairs."

  Sammy moved aside to let him pass. Matt wasn't sure if Sammy would follow or not, but he had to get to a phone. If anything, someone had to help Ryan deal with Fizz, and he'd rather that someone was Ginger.

  As he rounded the bannister and stepped onto the stairs, Matt glanced up at Sammy, waiting. He was surprised how much the hurt look on Sammy's face affected him. His chest felt tight, his heart hammered away.

  Sammy stared back at him, but his glower lost its strength. He huffed out a breath, and made to follow. Matt was relieved. They walked down the stairs together, quickly, but in silence. Matt tried to think of what to say as he concentrated on where he was going.

  The nearest phone was in the bar. Sammy waited out in the stairwell, while Matt slipped into the back bar. The music was playing, as normal, and Rachel was leaning on the bar, chatting to two of the regulars, totally oblivious to what went on upstairs.

  Matt picked up the phone, and opened the pub's diary on the counter to locate Ginger's number. He dialled, and the phone rang. Matt knew Ginger would always pick up a call from the pub. He was practically married to this place.

  After four rings, Ginger's voice grumbled, "What?"

  "It's Matt. I think you need to get back here, quick."

  "Why, what's wrong?"

  "Fizz is ill or something."

  "Ill?" Ginger repeated. "Ill, how?"

  "Don't know," Matt said honestly. "He's acting really strange. Wheezy breaths, sleepy, and... er, yeah, just kinda weird."

  "I'll be right there."

  "Where are you?" Matt asked.

  "Only at The Druids. Give me ten." Ginger hung up. Matt replaced the handset, and sighed in relief. Ginger was their first aider. If anyone knew what to do, he would. Beyond applying a plaster to cut fingers, Matt didn't have a clue about illnesses.

  Now that was taken care of, Matt knew he had to speak to Sammy. He edged his way into the stairwell. Sammy was still there, leaning against the bannister, pretending to fiddle with the bracelets on his wrist.

  Matt could tell he was upset, it was written all over his face. There had been a time when that sulky pout would have irritated Matt, but... not now. He'd put that pout there. The knowledge that Sammy was jealous over him made Matt feel several things at once: guilty, nervous, and a small, tiny amount of hopeful.

  "Sammy?" Matt moved closer.

  Even standing on the first step, Sammy was still shorter than him. Sammy looked up, his green-blue eyes shining. Matt wasn't sure what to do. He had an overwhelming urge to pull Sammy against him, but he wasn't sure such a gesture would be welcomed. The last thing he wanted was to annoy Sammy further.

  Matt played it safe, and reached out his hand. He gently touched Sammy's wrist, to stop him from fiddling with his bracelets. Sammy allowed the touch. He glanced down, looking at their hands. Matt couldn't guess what he was thinking. He rehearsed his words in his head, to think of what to say before he spoke, when Sammy twisted his hand in Matt's grasp, locking their fingers together.

  "I think I overreacted," he said quietly.

  "Huh? No, no," Matt said. "I mean, well... I don't know. That was all really weird. I didn't know what the hell Fizz was doing, but Ryan asked me to pick him up. I didn't want to, or anything."

  Sammy smiled wryly, still gazing down at their hands. "I kinda hate that kid, you know? It was weird to see him try to make out with you,
right after we.... Well, after you made out with me."

  Matt squeezed his hand. "Sammy, I wasn't—I mean, I wouldn't. That wasn't making out. Not like—" His words faltered.

  Sammy met his gaze. "Not like what?"

  "Like us, I mean."

  "What is this, Matt?" Sammy asked, searching his eyes. "I need to know."

  Matt acted on instinct and pulled Sammy close. He curved a hand behind Sammy's neck without thinking about it; he simply had to touch, to reassure. He gazed into Sammy's eyes. What is this? He'd been asking himself the same question since their first kiss. Matt didn't have all the answers, but he felt he had a pretty good one when he looked into Sammy's green-blue eyes.

  "This is you and me," he said, trying not to wince at how lame that sounded to his ears.

  "Yeah, you and me what?"

  "That's what I mean," Matt's voice lowered. "You and me."

  Sammy's eyes widened slightly. Matt almost became worried, then he saw the corners of Sammy's lips turn up. "You're getting ahead of yourself, aren't you?"

  "Huh?" Matt felt his stomach free-fall. The shock must have shown on his face, as Sammy smiled wider.

  "I meant, you've going to have to convince me first, Matthew." He tugged on Matt's sleeve, pulling him in. Matt went willingly. As Sammy tilted his face up to meet him, Matt placed a kiss on his lips, almost hesitant. Sammy pressed into him, fitting their mouths together. Matt sighed into the kiss, opening his jaw. Sammy followed his movement, allowing Matt to thrust his tongue inside and claim his mouth. Matt's sigh stretched into a groan as he pressed Sammy against the bannisters. He could feel himself growing hard the deeper the kiss got.

  The sound of someone clearing their throat was like ice water over his arousal.

  "Don't mind me." Rachel chuckled, as they flew apart. "I was just wondering where Ryan's gone. He's left me on my own."

  "He, um, he's upstairs." Matt felt himself flushing. "Er, Fizz isn't feeling well."

  "Not feeling well? I hope it's not that lurgy going around," Rachel said. "Okay, well it's quiet for now, but now the sun's out, it might get busy soon."

  "Er, okay," Matt said reluctantly. "We'll, er, go tell him."