The Haunted Pub

by Melanie Tushmore

  Rachel was in tears, though Ryan knew that she was unharmed. Thank God. Matt, too, appeared fine. He sat silently at the end of the bench, his fists clenched tightly. The paramedic crouched in the narrow aisle, making sure that the stretcher holding Ginger's body was secured. Someone, another paramedic, presumably, got into the front of the vehicle and started the engine.

  "I just don't get it," Rachel sobbed. "What happened? The police asked if it was a gas leak..."

  "They've closed the pub," Matt said quietly. "They've actually got the yellow tape out, like for crime scenes."

  Oh, right. Ryan answered in his mind, but the words never untangled themselves enough to make it into speech. He focussed all his energy into willing Ginger to wake up.

  * * * *

  "I'm fine," Fizz said. "Please, let me walk." He didn't want anybody having to carry him down all those stairs. The poor paramedics had enough work to do carrying everyone else. His room was full of people: people collapsed on the floor, being lifted onto stretchers, paramedics tending to them. Fizz had wanted to see Ash, but Ash was swallowed up in a sea of green uniforms as the paramedics swooped in.

  "He's fine." Sheila was by his side. "Just not awake yet. I think Sammy came off the worst out of this; he's probably got a broken arm."

  "Sammy?" Fizz looked around, trying to see who exactly was in the room with him. What had happened? He had no memory of this. Had he blacked out? He'd woken up with a jolt, to see a smiling red-head, Sheila, leaning over him. Ryan, and a blonde lady he'd seen in the pub before, had been there, too. Where were they now?

  A blanket wrapped around him tightly. Fizz's T-shirt had been slashed in two, left hanging like an open waistcoat. Little round, sticky pads were on his bare chest. Sheila told him he'd stopped breathing, and they'd had to do CPR.

  Fizz didn't understand. "Why wasn't I breathing? Can I see Ash now?"

  One of the paramedics, a man, helped Fizz to stand. Keeping an arm around him, he started to walk him out of the room. "Ash?"

  "You can see him later." Sheila caught up to his other side. "Can't he, Nige?"

  The paramedic said, "Yeah, wait till we get to the hospital, check you all over. You coming in the van, Sheila? They won't mind, as they know you."

  "Yeah, I'll come." Sheila moved in front, as the hall ahead was too narrow for the three of them. "Good job I can nip to the staff room and get my own tea bags, though."

  Fizz moved in a daze. He was walked down the stairs and outside, to what looked like a scene from a disaster movie: ambulances, police cars, flashing lights, and yellow tape saying "Police Do Not Cross."

  Fizz felt panic swirl in his stomach. "Do you know my cousin?" he asked Sheila. They led him to an ambulance, helping him inside.

  "Dan? Yes, he'll be at the hospital, too," Sheila said, sitting down on a bench. Fizz sat next to her, then did a double-take as he realised that opposite them was a body on a stretcher: a man he didn't recognise.

  "It's okay." Sheila squeezed his hand. "He's just unconscious. That was one of the guys who first came to help, and he, um... collapsed like everyone else."

  "Oh, my God!" Fizz stared at the man, strapped into the stretcher. His eyes were shut, like he was asleep. "Is... is my cousin okay?"

  "He collapsed too, love. I'm sure everyone will be fine, though."

  "Oh, God!" Fizz tried to stand, the blanket stopped his arms from moving. Sheila urged him to sit. The paramedic, the one Sheila had called Nige, closed the vehicle door with a slam. Fizz's panic spiked. Where was Ginger? And Ash? What the hell had happened to everyone?

  "Please." He gripped onto Sheila. "I need to see them. What happened? I have to know they're okay!"

  "They will be," she answered calmly.

  Fizz didn’t understand. He pushed away from her, trying to pull the blanket off him. "Let me out!"

  The paramedic swiftly undid Fizz's blanket, but pushed him down to sitting with strong hands. "Hold still," he said firmly. "We can't have you moving about when the van starts. You can see everyone at the hospital."

  Fizz didn't understand. He felt something tug at the edge of his memory, like a dream he could almost remember. The panic took over his actions, making him want to move, to do something. The man pulled out a syringe, and in a patient voice explained that it would "help him relax."

  "But what about the others?" Fizz trembled as they held him still.

  "They'll be all right," Sheila said. "Just do as Nigel says, love."

  The needle stung his arm slightly. He winced, watching the plunger go down, pushing clear liquid into his body. Would it react with his pills? It was probably stronger. Fizz had been sedated before, at the dentist's, when he was younger. It was the only way the dentist could get near him. He hadn't liked it then, and he didn't like it now.

  Nigel encouraged him to lie down, and when Fizz tried to blink, his eyes stayed closed.

  * * * *

  In a little side room, two nurses had Ryan, Rachel, and Matt sit on the bed and chairs while they checked them over. All their vitals were fine: responses, blood pressure. Rachel had to be given a sedative, as she was close to hysterics.

  Strangely, her panic was what made Ryan realise he had to stay calm.

  When they'd pulled up outside casualty, and more nurses had rushed out to help with the stretchers, Ryan had panicked at being separated from Ginger. When Rachel lost it and burst into tears, Ryan realised his choices were sedation or to calm down.

  He chose to calm down. He squeezed Beth's pendant tight in his hand, and thought to himself that as soon as he had a chance, he'd sneak away and see Ginger. The nurses with them said that everyone else who'd been brought in was stable. That was all that mattered.

  "If you just do these tests with us now," one of them said, "then we'll take you to see your friends."

  Ryan nodded numbly, going along with what they wanted. Rachel was helped onto the bed to lie down, and encouraged to sleep.

  When Ryan and Matt were handed little pots, Matt threw Ryan a frustrated scowl. "I'm not pissing in this!" he declared.

  "It's the quickest test we can do," the older nurse explained. "We need blood samples, too."

  "What? Why?" Matt frowned at her. "I'm fine. Ryan's fine. Rachel's fine. We're all fine!"

  "We don't know that," she said. "And until a diagnosis comes back on your friends, they might even have to quarantined. We need to make sure you aren't at risk."

  "I'm not—" Matt stopped himself from talking. Ryan looked at him, trying to convey warning in his eyes. Matt breathed in. "Okay," he said. "Fine." He got up and stomped into the closet bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

  Ryan clutched the empty sample pot in one hand, the pendant in the other. How had it come to this?

  The nurses spoke in hushed tones, darting wary glances at him. One of them left the room, while the other moved over to the bed, checking on Rachel.

  The door to the bathroom opened a crack. "Ryan," Matt hissed. "Come and... help me pee."

  Ryan knew instinctively that Matt didn't actually need help peeing. At least, he bloody hoped not. He stood up, leaving his blanket on the chair.

  The nurse glanced over her shoulder at him. "You two all right?"

  "Yeah, fine," Matt said. "I... look, we'll be out in a minute." He stood aside to let Ryan in.

  "Keep the door open," the nurse said. Matt relented, only closing the door partway, mostly to hide them from the nurse's view.

  In the cramped, fluorescent-lit bathroom, he bent his mouth to Ryan's ear. "What do we say happened? Please tell me you saw all that, and I didn't turn crazy when I woke up this morning?"

  Ryan opened his hand, staring at Beth's pendant. "I saw it," he said quietly.

  "Thank God." Matt placed a hand on his shoulder. They stayed like that for a long moment, and Ryan could almost hear Matt's mind churning away. His own was going through the same, chewing things over and over. Had it been real? Had they really seen Fizz acting like some crazy person, with the room bleed
ing all around them? And had Ryan seen a vision, someone else's memories, or had he dreamt it? Matt hadn't seen that vision, had he?

  "Did you see him?" Matt whispered. "Did you see Fizz step out of—I mean, like he wasn't in his own body? And the body collapsed, just like that."

  Ryan saw it in his mind's eye as Matt described it. A shiver ran down his spine. "I saw it," he repeated. Was more was there to say? He'd seen it all.

  The door was pulled open, and the older nurse stood there, watching them like she might a pair of naughty children. "You both okay?"

  "Yes," Matt gritted out.

  Another figure stepped into view, and Ryan's heart skipped when he saw the police uniform. He greeted them in a casual tone. "Hello, there. Just need to ask a few questions if you don't mind."

  Ryan nodded. He tried his best not to look guilty, but he didn't think it worked.

  Matt was the one who sprang into action. "Can we pee in private? Apparently we have to pee in these pots."

  "Yeah, of course." The officer gestured to them, and Matt shut the door.

  "Please don't lock it," the nurse called to them.

  Matt turned worried eyes on Ryan. "So what do we tell them?"

  "I... I don't know."

  "Well, that's not much good, is it!?" Matt hissed in a whisper.

  Ryan sighed. "What do you want me to say, Matt?"

  "I don't know. Where's your friend Sheila, and that other girl, Beth? I mean, can't they explain it?"

  Ryan waved his hand, gesturing for Matt to keep his voice down. For all they knew, the officer had his ear to the door seam, taking notes.

  "Let's just..." He lowered his voice, pulling Matt against him to whisper in his ear. "Let's just tell the truth, but leave out all the... weird stuff. They'll never believe us anyway."

  Matt nodded fervently. "Yeah, too right. I wouldn't blame 'em."

  "Right."

  After peeing in their respective pots, they shuffled out from the bathroom, handing their samples to the nurse. She took them and sat at the desk, dipping various tabs of paper into their urine, as Matt pulled a disgusted face. The other nurse left, and the police officer sat with them. Ryan tried to put himself in the man's shoes. What must he be thinking?

  "I should maybe call our boss," Ryan said, thinking aloud.

  "I think someone's already spoken to whoever owns the building," the officer said. He had a pen and notepad ready. Ryan mused that the notepad was too small to fit much in, and that the officer would have to have very neat writing to make the most of that space.

  "Can you tell me what happened?" he asked, looking between the two of them.

  Matt and Ryan exchanged a glance. "What, both of us together?" Matt asked.

  "This is just a first round of inquiry. We're just starting to get statements in. Once you're deemed fit and healthy, we'll probably need you to do full statements with us later."

  "Okay." Matt turned to Ryan again. "You tell him, then."

  "Will this be quick?" Ryan asked. "I really wanted to see... I mean, we wanted to see our friends."

  "'Course you do. No, this won't take long. We're just trying to establish exactly what happened, in case there's further risk. We got everyone out, cordoned off the building, and called in the gas board, but there aren't any initial signs of a gas leak. That's still our main cause for concern, at the moment."

  "Oh, right." Ryan breathed in disguised relief. "Well, yeah, that part of the building is pretty old."

  "Was it recently opened?"

  "Yeah, we—"

  The door swung open, and two more men appeared. One was in police uniform, another was in normal clothes: dark jeans and a jacket; nothing memorable, just average. Ryan was wondering who he was until the man pulled out a wallet and flipped it open to reveal his badge. "Hello, there, I'm Detective Inspector Walsh. This has been a busy night, hasn't it? You boys all right?"

  Ryan was instantly terrified, but managed to nod. Matt stared at the floor.

  "Do you want to take over, sir?" the first officer asked.

  "Have you got far?" the detective pulled up a chair next to him.

  The officer shook his head. "Just started."

  "I'm just in time, then." The detective smiled at them, and Ryan thought he seemed pleasant enough, but cagey. He supposed it paid to be cagey in his line of work. "So, lads, can you talk me through what happened tonight?"

  Ryan tried to breathe calmly. He'd tell the detective as much as he could, but he was going to have to be a little inventive skirting 'round the unexplainable and frightening memories that played over and over in his mind, like a snagged movie reel.

  Chapter 21

  Fizz knew he had to be dreaming. He was on a boat, staring at water. He'd never been on a boat in his life. How strange. There was dark-skinned man, naked to the waist, wearing a turban, drawing patterns on the wooden deck with a piece of chalk. Sigils. Fizz didn't know how he knew this, but knew for certain they were sigils used for protection, healing…

  That was the only thing he remembered before he woke up. He knew there had been other things in the dream, but he couldn't recall anything. He blinked in the gloom. Where was he? A room. A room that beeped, and made noises. Someone coughed from far away, and it echoed off walls. It was dark here, but not pitch-black. Light filtered in through from an open door, and Fizz heard female voices talking in hushed tones, a subdued laugh, and the rustle of paper. A smell of disinfectant and cheap, starched bedclothes met his nose. He knew instantly where he was: a hospital.

  Fizz still felt half-asleep, but found himself sitting up, pulling pads, clips, and tubes away from his body. He had somewhere more important to be. He wasn't awake enough to realise what, he just knew he had to go.

  The floor felt cold under his bare feet. Fizz wandered through the gloom, pushing aside thin material curtains. Bodies lay in beds, machines whirring quietly next to them. Beep, beep, beep. The beeps were good: it meant they were alive. Fizz wondered if he was still dreaming.

  When he found who he was looking for, he stood close enough to touch, but was almost afraid to. He stared down at the sleeping body. This boy wasn't much older than him, with dark, burnished skin, and glossy black hair. His face was delicately handsome, marred somewhat by the clear, plastic tubing fed into his nose. Fizz knew that if those eyes had been open, they'd be deep, deep brown, and the boy's lips would curve up in a warm smile.

  Subdued and hazy, Fizz reached out his fingers, holding the boy's hand. A plastic clip was on his index finger, hooked up to a machine that made the beep, beep, beep.

  "Ash?"

  The boy didn't respond. He slept on, as if he'd be that way forever. Fizz wasn't sure how long he stood there, but when a woman with a strange, unusual accent came for him, he went with her willingly. She put him back into his bed, reattaching the clipper to his finger. Fizz closed his eyes, and he was back in his dream. The wind was in his hair, and he could smell the salt on the waves.

  * * * *

  Ryan decided that Sheila was his saving grace. Not only had she appeared halfway through the police statements to back up his and Matt's story, but she'd brought cups of tea.

  There honestly wasn't a lot they could tell the police anyway, and the prospect of a gas leak or some phenomena with the building was suspect number one, as far as Ryan could make out. There had been questions about alcohol and drugs, but the initial tests from everyone had come up clean.

  Ryan was relieved. There were the two paramedics who'd collapsed, too, so that rather pointed to something in the building being to blame. Ryan blamed the pigeon loft entirely. He hoped the place would get sealed off for good.

  After Detective Walsh and the police had gone, Sheila and a nurse took Ryan and Matt to the ward. They left Rachel asleep, with the other nurse, who promised to take good care of her. Sheila chatted with the second nurse as they led the boys down corridors, through the hospital, and onto a quiet ward.

  There were so many people affected, they'd been given their ow
n ward. Ryan wondered if they'd get quarantined, like in zombie movies. He quickly pushed that thought away, and chided himself for thinking about it in the first place.

  The beds were lined up in rows. The two paramedics, then Ash. On the other side were Sammy, Fizz, Pete, Ginger.

  Sheila explained that Fizz had been sedated because he'd become upset in the ambulance on their way here. Everyone else was stable, but in a comatose state, for reasons that the doctors couldn't determine.

  Out of eyesight of the nurse, Sheila gave them a lingering look. "But they will be all right," she said. Ryan desperately wanted to believe her.

  "And Sammy?" Matt had moved over to his bedside. He was in visibly worse shape than anyone else, with his right arm in plaster, and a bandage around his head.

  "Broken arm," Sheila stated. "Possibly concussion, but until he wakes up, they won't know more. He's been in for tests, and there doesn't appear to be any swelling in his head, so hopefully it wasn't a big thump. Looks like his arm and shoulder took the brunt of it, and they will heal."

  Matt shot a look at Ryan, then glanced warily in the direction of Fizz's bed. Ryan followed his gaze. No, he couldn't believe it either. That tiny slip of a boy, who looked like he couldn't even snap a twig, had thrown Sammy across with enough force to break bones.

  It was incredible.

  A doctor appeared at the other side of the ward, perusing a clipboard, flipping pages away in frustration. The nurse walked off in shuffling footsteps, to speak with the doctor. In her absence, with just Sheila and Matt in earshot, Ryan said quietly, "But it wasn't Fizz, was it?"

  "No," Sheila whispered back. "It wasn't."

  Matt didn't look convinced. The way he glared at Fizz, then looked at Sammy with a worried frown, Ryan didn't think Matt would be forgiving Fizz any time soon.

  * * * *

  They went home with Sheila. Ryan didn't want to leave the ward, didn't want to leave Ginger's bedside, but it was a decision he was forced to make when Detective Walsh popped up again. Ryan knew that if he hung around, he'd be asked more questions. Ryan felt forced away from Ginger under duress.