Creepy Pasta stories

The Prisoners

"Are you going to get a pint in, then? They've just called time."

I didn't hear him at first, I was miles away playing on the gambling machine in the far corner of the pub. It caught my eye as I was leaving the toilets. I always did have a soft spot for them. To my left sat an old couple in the corner, talking about how crap telly is nowadays and to my right a rather raucous group being quite vocal about how they lost the pub quiz, but won a pickled egg.

"Oi! Cloth ears! They've just called time at the bar!"

I definitely heard him that time and replied:

"Alright Will, you cheeky get! In fact, you get them in now for your lippyness. Half of Old Peculiar please. Oh and make it snappy, they've just called time at the bar I think."

As he toddled off to the bar, I chucked another quid into the machine and this time I was sure I would get the jackpot – the bleeding thing had already had four pounds fifty out of me.

We'd come to the quaint old fishing town once again at the beginning of November. By then, it was classed as out of season and was cheaper. Besides that, there's always something much more magical about strolling down the old cobbled street on a crisp night, before slipping into one of the historical public houses with a roaring fire & many a rosey-cheeked reveller.

Will returned from the bar.

"Here you go my little chickadee. Have you actually even won owt on that machine yet?", he asked.

"Nope, not a sausage. You never know though. Anyway, it's better than them shooting games you go on in the amusements. At least I'm in for a chance of winning my money back!"

"Let's hope your luck turns round soon then, Old Peculiar is off, got you IPA."

We finished our drinks and made our way back to the cottage we had rented for the week. As we exited the throng & warmth of the pub, the biting night air brought silence outside. It was my suggestion that we go for a short stroll down to the harbour.

I stood at the edge and watched the glistening black liquid pull and push beneath me, the orange shimmer from street lighting danced upon it like fire. It cast my mind back to the warm glow of the pub & I wanted to go back to the cottage now to view all this beauty from the other side of a window in a centrally heated room.

As we walked back up the cobbled street, the darkened entrances between shops to old yards on either side of the street seemed to pass with increasing recurrence and each one blacker than the last. Anyone or anything could have been lurking in those old alley ways and as I tried not to think about it, I gripped hold of Will's arm even tighter. The more I tried to ignore scary thoughts, the more my mind dragged me back to all the traditional ghost stories in the local interest books that I enjoy reading (well, in the daytime anyway).

We passed the bottom of some steps that led up a cliff to a churchyard above and I looked up expecting to see the silhouette of a gloomy figure high up on the cliff gazing down at me. There was, of course, no one there. At least no one I could see.

I was freaking myself out now, although I never mentioned any of this to Will. All the time, he was just rambling about how he wanted to enquire about a sea fishing trip tomorrow, which I think he got in his head from seeing a bloke in the pub that resembled a stereotypical fisherman.

Further up the street we strode without incident, past the old smoke house on the right hand side and straight to our cottage. Thank God.

It was warm within and my legs ached from the cold outside. It was decided that tea and toast was in order. As Will went upstairs to put those ridiculous super hero lounge pants on, I filled the kettle and set it boiling. As it rumbled and gurgled away, I stood there in a day dream thinking about the places and people we'd seen today.