Gold Writer

15

Underneath an ebony sky, a lone pair of headlights

pierced the fog as a single vehicle rumbled quickly

along the road towards The Last Inn. The wipers flailed

from side to side, as if attempting to wrench them-

selves free. As she approached the Inn, the driver

observed the little establishment. Without the lamp,

she was scarcely able to make the inn out through

the downpour. She knew the rules though. No lamp;

no passengers.

“Don’t turn ‘round, loon. If she sees me speaking to you,

we’ll both be in trouble. Forget the beer, forget the bus,

and for God’s sake, forget the shortbread. Just get up

and go, now. Strangers aren’t treated with kindness

here for long.”

Jake felt a chill pass by his ear in the absence of the

warm warnings. The stranger’s words hung thick in the

air, mingling with the aromas of butter, sugar, and hops.

He felt sweat starting to form on his forehead, just be-

low his hairline. Had it always been this hot in here?

Disturbed, Jake pushed his stool back slightly from

the bar. The sound of the three wooden legs scraping

across the knotted old floor of the Inn broke the heavy

air. He felt the eyes of every patron in the Inn slowly

fixate on him. Another bead of sweat fell from his fore-

head. In the sudden silence, Jake heard a quiet click.

He winced, expecting the lights to go out.