Diary Of An Occult Resolution Assistant

by Chris Norgate

  ''Well,'' I said out loud once I was alone and regained some function over myself. ''I need a bloody big drink.'' The Jolly Reaper had its double doors open and lights calling to me so I set off across the village square with determination.

  18:08 The first pint.

  18:09, the second.

  The first drink didn’t touch the sides, I drained my glass quickly and less ladylike I could not have been. Cold larger ran across my cheeks and down my neck but the main flow went in the right direction. The escaping air came back and I thought of the small snotty child outside the shop as I wiped the remains from my face with my sleeve. The Jolly Reaper had a good barman, he had poured a second pint and sat it down next to my empty glass without prompt. He took the money from my change still on the bar from my first drink and I collected the rest and with a thanks, sat down at a table and took a look around.

  There were two different pairs of diners sat at small tables over on the other side of the large room eating meals and participating in conversations of established couples; snippets carried on the air in the quiet pub of mortgage payments and which bin goes out tomorrow.

  There was no one else in here with us and the barman had resorted to reading a copy of a red topped daily paper. Time to think, what was I going to achieve here tonight and what did I have already to report upon? My thoughts were full of the girls who had gone to London to chase their dreams, especially Beth who's leaving had caused so much pain to two such lovely people. Didn't the girls have something to do with helping her leave? None of the current group look old enough to have been in the group when Beth left judging on their ability to legally enter the pub - that is if the locals and bar manager also observed this too, but Mary would have been around and could have been the financial and moral support Beth would have needed; but I shouldn't jump to conclusions and I need to focus more on my primary objective.

  A distraction came in the guise of a white coated chef with a large bowl of thick cut chips covered with vinegar judging by the wonderful smell emanating from them with the steam and filling the room easily. My stomach gurgled loudly as the bowl was sat down on the bar next to the young paper reading barman. The two men smiled at the sound which developed into a laugh when they saw my embarrassment.

  ''Come on Valentine.'' Said the barman, ''There’s plenty too many for me, and I ate before coming to work. Please.'' the bowl was slid to the edge of the bar closest to me and he proffered me a long thick chip and then snatched it back towards his mouth and biting it quickly. He soon regretted it as he coughed out the steaming hot fried potato. I joined the chef in a stomach hurting laugh and took a stool at the bar.

  We were left alone by the chef who disappeared into the bowels of the public house. The barman was friendly, chatting away about the funnier items found in today's paper and making me feel at ease. I didn't feel like he was chatting me up and he wasn't my usual type but I found myself leaning in and giving this young man more of my attention. He was ginger and thin with a tufty beard that if anything was more ginger than his head and might have looked better if the hair had covered more than 30% of his chin.

  The conversation was artfully changed round to me in such a way I didn't even know I had started to divulge things about myself to this stranger, but as a guy once said when I asked him about the male perspective of chatting up techniques, get a girl talking about her favourite subject and you're halfway there. I asked what that was and he replied simply 'herself'. I started talking about London, about some of the areas in the newspaper articles and trying to bring local knowledge to educate him on some of the more obscure stories. No there was not a crocodile chasing and RSPCA warden through that park and No, I doubt a rat the size of a dog took over a kebab shop by chasing the staff out. I did add, that knowing some kebab shop owners, it would take more than a rat of any size to scare them away from their posts. I once saw two elderly chefs chase out three knife carrying youths from their shop, who were intent on robbery, with kebab knives as long as their arms.

  After I worked out I was now the primary contributor to this conversation I used the opportunity to artfully diverted it for my own purpose. O.K, not so artfully but I did a little laugh and pulled my top tighter to bring the secret weapons into play.

  ''I've come down from London chasing news stories of my own.'' I said noticing from his eye line he had taken the bait.

  ''The wild dogs thing.'' he said bringing his eyes up to meet mine.

  ''You think it’s a dog?'' I asked.

  ''You don't?'' he came back.

  ''I was hoping for a wild cat or a story of an escaped animal from a private estate or zoo.'' I said giving a wide eyed look straight at him. Unfortunately either I had come on too strong or he wasn't used to continued female closeness because he turned his back to me and poured a drink from an optic hanging on the wall. He turned back but this time took a position leaning against the back bar almost knocking the lemon slices into the ice bucket. The chips were almost gone and as I took one I changed tack slightly.

  ''So what is the story here? there have been a couple of reports of mauled sheep and other animals and stories of large cats. Or,'' I said this last word in a stage whisper to encourage a pseudo confidentiality before continuing, ''are there witches in the woods performing Satanic rites?'' I laughed and my companion went white.

  ''I have work to do Miss.'' he said and collected the bowl and paper and walked quickly out the kitchen before I could cut him off with another word. Story of my life, I thought and went back to my able and my drink. So either the barman didn't like witches - horror movies have a lot to answer for, or he knew of something he wouldn't or couldn't talk about. He might have thought I was silly in broaching the subject and turned away or he might be scared of words scattered to the wind and heard by unseen ears. Whatever the reason I was now sat alone on the table idly watching the world go by outside the window.

  A van with a works logo on the side pulled up in the small village square and more lads climbed out than seemed physically possible, or legally allowable. Each was dirty, dust worn from a day's hard graft in the outdoors. I thought them farmers, or labourers there on, but only because it seemed fitting in a romantic ideal that these strong young men should be out scything, ploughing and sowing all by hand with their shirts off. They could just as easily be builders or road sweepers for all I knew, but I'll stick to the farmer image if it’s all the same to you.

  The leader, or at least the tallest and broadest of the pack was unmistakably Jed, his "fashion beard" catching the sun and shining golden, the same rays causing a halo effect around his blonde curled locks. "No angel" I muttered to myself as I sipped my beer but all the same I could see how Saxon's could have believed it when the Anglo's arrived if they looked anything like this. The pack moved to allow Jed through as he emerged from the pack and led it as a single body towards the Jolly Reaper.

  Inside Arn had taken up residence at the bar, replacing the younger barman and filling the void by folding himself into the exact same position hunched over the paper.

  Silence was smashed hard and fast like the post van I pulled out on on my first driving lesson and floor boards rocked to the heavy and determined footsteps of six thirsty, eager workers all with a pressing need for pressed apple products fermented and chemical induced fusion of hops and water. The conversations were extremely audible and incomprehensible; But I did make out a few words of "round" and "pint".

  Arn busied himself, and as a long standing example of his trade had already begun the clamorous requests aimed his way before the last syllable had been uttered into existence and the first pints drawn before the same ones could evaporate into his ear.

  Pints were drawn with a smile, as was the retrieval of the money. Coins and crumpled notes bulked out with bits of lint, inches of straw and oily or rusty nuts and washers. No matter what condition, it was quickly scrutinised before being dropped into a till draw hidden built into a technological marvel that had so much tech bolted to it th
at if you told me it could make coffee and stand in for air traffic control I would have believed you. It sat in stark contrast to the rest of the public house's interior and its main clientele, but goes to show how rustic an establishment strives to be or how run down with lack of internal investment, the money taking side is always state of the art.

  The lads filled the room, it’s hard to describe how a small group can expand in mass to conquer a size such as this but confidence - and the aroma of hard work, can do a lot. I pulled back into my chair and watched the interaction of the men who jostled and joked together. Here I thought, if you could get past the macho exteriors, were encyclopaedias of local knowledge on legs - O.K. don't think about legs - mind on the job. I now had a dilemma of how to introduce a new topic of conversation into the cacophony, but it was solved for me almost as quickly as it passed through my mind.

  Jed turned around and perched on the bar by flexing his arms back and shifting his weight. Cloth in the arms of his worn shirt strained with the expansion of muscle caused by his actions and I had quickly swallowed a mouthful of saliva before I started to dribble. He looked around the bar and his eyes focused on me sat by myself on the table. The other lads had noticed me too and a brief conversation erupted about who was going to come over but, without a word of debate, Jed walked over and sat down.

  I was ready for the same tired chat-up lines so I held up a hand when he started to speak and said.

  "Yes, you can buy me a drink. I'm on pints. And after that you can talk to me about what you know of this delightful little village and all the things within."

  This seemed to throw the big man; good, he isn't all confident after all. He followed the instructions to the letter, paid for and delivered a pint of amber liquid which turned out to be a locally produced cider of exceptional quality and strength. He sat down opposite me and I could tell he was searching for words to conjure up a remarkable beginning. His friends, either through support or to be there when the big man crashed and burned, pulled closer and hung around chatting quietly without looking like they were desperately eavesdropping. They failed miserably. but it was good to know I had an audience to my questions if Jed was at a loss to answer.

  "I love this village." I said as an easy opener.

  "Where are you from, your accent isn't a local one." he countered.

  "I've come here from London but I'm not here to talk about me." I took a sip of the cider as seductively as possible without breaking eye contact, it was as sexy as a tax return especially when I burped into the glass but Jed showed no signs of minding. "I want to know about you....or more exactly what you know."

  "You're not a copper." he asked rhyming copper with scum. "you're far too pretty to be mucking about with those tossers." He smiled but wasn't sure.

  "No." I said. "I am not, but I'm still interested in anything you can tell me about this place."

  A younger lad cut into the conversation as if he had been part of it from the start. "You're one of those big cat hunters aren't you?" the glee in his voice standing proud. "she's after the dirt on Gloria."

  "Who's Gloria?" I asked to the new speaker. His companions were shaking their heads and muttering as if I had asked for a story 'during the war'.

  "Who's Gloria!" he replied. "she's world famous, or otherwise you'll not be here asking about her." The smug look at his logical reasoning was as amusing as it was incorrect.

  "Now Si." said Jed turning in his seat. "I'm on the pull here and you want to talk about imaginary panthers stalking the fields again."

  I waded into the exchange and made it clear I was more interested in hearing about panthers, Gloria's or any other weird things happening in these parts than I was open to any romantic liaison, at least until another pint or two flowed my way. I was asked almost by committee if I was 'one of them' and after a brief uncertainty of who 'them' were I had to answer to the negative that I was not one of those weird girls that hang about with Mary, even if I was seen drinking with them last night. And I was also not in the habit of being all weird and spooky. I had to obviously lie a bit.

  The story unfolded in much the way I was hoping and expecting, a lot of exaggeration and fairy-tale interwoven with nuggets of actual fact scattered within when something more fantastical couldn't be dropped in. Over the course of a couple of months animals have been found mauled in the woods after being dragged out of the neighbouring fields. Nicknamed Gloria after the lads ex - and I suspected only, girlfriend who drags men to the woods to rip their hearts out. A ghostly howl was heard before the last one was found, a ram, a few nights ago followed by a scream almost human and that of the Devil himself.

  There was a disagreement within the clique and a differing story was told about the weird girls, all except Jason's sister who is fit, a lad I guessed was Jason thumped the speaker hard on the arm, who go into the woods at midnight and play at witches and sacrifice rams to their evil gods and get all naked and dance around covered in its blood. There was a lot of agreement about the naked dancing bit, especially about Jason's sister who the consensus stated would like to see in the buff. More thumps later the conversation drew back to the more mundane as Jed started to speak.

  "That's all crap, and you lads know it. The police have been down here and they said it was hunting hounds that escaped from their kennels that have now been rounded up."

  "But..." started Simon. "what about the ghostly howl?"

  "Dogs howl, famous for it in fact and more so than cats that growl or roar. Have you never seen David Attenborough in Africa?" said Jed educationally. "Now shut up and push off, I have a lady to talk too."

  The guys grumbled and headed back off to the bar where another round was purchased and their conversation turned to football and TV.

  *

  Jed changed the subject as subtle as the slight brush of the iceberg against the Titanic’s hull, onto more intimate conversations. I’ve not been on too many first dates, occasionally jumping straight to the fourth date, so my slim experience of these things told me to expect lines about beauty, amazing eyes, flattery and very positive body imagery - they didn’t prepare me for the sheer onslaught of comments about body parts and their attractiveness but all were about himself.

  I wasn't here for the chatting up but I was starting to get chagrined over not being complimented on my eyes, hair or clothes; I would even have laughed beatifically if he had commented on the size or pertness of my breasts.

  "It’s so hard keeping hair like this when out in all weathers and in dust." he said as I tried to remain looking interested. "It takes ages to get back into line, which is time I lose from the gym. Luckily I'm naturally gifted in muscle tone and farm work really helps give definition."

  "Tell me more about..." I crowbarred into the monologue a few brief syllables but sadly not enough to steer the careering juggernaut away from its course.

  "More about the secret weapons." he ejaculated excitedly flexing his arms so they almost doubled in size. I hid my eyes in an attempt to terminate an eruption of laughter. I could hear him saying 'boom, boom' in a low voice and I knew he was flexing his muscles. I swear, if he turns his head and kisses them I am out of here, investigation or no investigation!

  He went on to list a long line of muscle names and flexed each one as he went, his knowledge of the subject was impressive and I hoped Doctors could rattle through the list with equal enthusiasm, although I was sure some of them were names of dinosaurs and car parts. I had time to run through a lot in my head while looking like I was listening to the anatomy lesson. An opening came and I leapt at it.

  "Did you say you run?" if you can't beat them, join them. Runners, I thought, tread on a lot of ground and that is what I needed to know about. "Do you ever run by the river in the woods? It’s lovely there."

  "I do, but only for a few miles of it, then an hour or so along the ramblers path up into the fields and back round to the farm. A couple of laps around the top field if I want to push it then an ice cold shower, it makes the weapo
ns stand out.”

  "So you know the woods pretty well then?" I hated myself for it but I fluttered my eyes and laid it on thick.

  "Not as well as the poachers but better than the gamekeepers, I do." he leant forward resting his shoulders on the table and reaching his arms out to encompass mine.

  "Tell me about the woods. It’s such a beautiful place, it must have an interesting history." I had to get as much out of this chat as I could before it turned back to body parts and pumping.........insert your own jokes here.

  "Ha, it’s green and woody. Nothing special at all unless you like birds and crap."

  "But there must be local stories about it. I love history and to get a real feel for a place." gulp, hope this works. "It really turns me on."

  The gambit paid off and Jed flushed red but not a blush, more of a call to arms or a rally cry for the big push.

  "I don't know anything concrete, but the lads have stories about it. Si recons it's haunted and evil spirits walk there at night. Don't believe it, Si also recons aliens have been landing and experimenting on the bloody animal corpse they've been finding.....no, that was last week, this week he is sure its witches and black mass."

  "The animals, the guys were talking about that earlier, so was the barman."

  "Arn? he never leaves the bar, gets all his info from the daily rag and drunken banter."

  "Not Arn, the young one. He was in here earlier and he was telling me about wild dogs running, well wild."

  "Him?" Jed gave a sweeping gesture with his hand to pass him off as nothing. "He's new, been here a few days tops. No one knows much about him, he's only here during the day while real men are out working (I didn't stop to correct him as last time I looked barman was a job,) and he hasn't drunk here at night. Probably goes straight home to Mummy, wherever home is. Don't even know his name."