Extract taken from 'The Host"; a novel written by Matthew James
The interior of The Rifleman's Arms was empty, except for the Jester who sat with two of his cronies in the corner of the main room of the pub. A pint of Flowers Bitter by his side on the wobbly circular wooden bar table. He puffed on a roll up cigarette, coughing as the smoke caught the back of his throat.
His acoustic guitar and ceremonial sword rested against the end of the fixed seating. Both as familiar to the bar maid as the smoky and drab interior of the pub. Shirley Davies was an intelligent woman of twenty eight years of age. She wasn't a stunner with her average looks, but then she had had her fair share of partners over the years. She wore her long black hair in a pony tail, which she fastened with a red hair tie. She was dressed in white tee shirt, which bore the pub's logo, faded blue jeans and slip on sandles stained with beer and lager that had been splashed on them.
She was bored, which wasn't difficult on a monday lunch time. few punter ventured into the pub, especially at the end of another season. The Chalice Well gardens were a couple of minutes walk from the pub, the village a good ten minutes in the opposite direction. The Rifleman's Arms, she decided again for the thousandth time since her employment, was not ideally placed for the tourist trade. It was in fact a locals pub. It attracted those of the dark and closed mind. It was a den of stoats & weasels, where Shirley hated the work but needed the money. She had little Louise to think about, especially now that Alan had buggered off back to Reading, leaving her on her own.
She moved herself from leading on the bar front, her left arm had gone numb, and walked into the glass wash room. On her mind was the American who had enquired about The Jester's whereabouts a few days before. She brought his face into her mind and tuned into him, because she had nothing better to do. She was a psychic as were most of her fellow students who attended the classes on a monday night in The Assembly rooms. She applied her discipline and tried to imagine what he was feeling. She could see him, and feel him. He was close, she guessed he must be in The Chalice Gardens. He was with someon; she wondered if it was Natalie Brooks, but then if it were, The Jester would know and would be going afer him. She knew from reputation and gossip that he too was a psychic.
"Two of the usual, Shirle, please!" The voice from the bar brought her back to her senses. Speak of the bloody devil and he comes! She thought quickly to herself as she walked back to behind the bar. The unnerving face of The Jester stared at her. He was perhaps thirty five years of age, with long black hair, dark brown staring eyes in a boney face. His eyes staring and full of menace. He was dressed in his usual striped attire.
She pulled down two pint glasses from off the drinks shelf, above the counter and proceeded to pour a pint of Flowers bitter from the hand pump to her right.
"Seen Nats anywhere?" Asked The Jester, catching her off guard.
"No I haven't, not for ages." She replied.
"Where's the yank then that asked after her?"
"What yank?" She hoped her denial would be accepted, The Jester sensed something. She did not like his manner.
"Don't lie to me. I know he asked you on friday where I was; where nats was. Now, what did he want?" The Jester had brought his face to within inches of her own. She was trapped.
"I, er, remember him now. It was crowded that day.I sent him to the library." She was uncomfortable. By now, she was pouring the second pint, The Jester pulled his head away from her, pulled himself away from the bar counter, and walked over to his two companions. She heaved a sigh, and wiped the sweat from her brow.
She relaxed too soon, he walked back to the bar, and picked up one of the two pints, taking it over to the wobbly bar table, before coming back for the other.
"That'll be three pounds ten." As she soke her voice was barely above a whisper. Her throat suddenly tight and sore. She glanced around the pub and noticed a blackness in the corners that hadn't been there before. She was scared.
She turned to The Jester who handed her a five pound note, before sneering at her; "my master has come, he'll get the truth outta you!" He pointed with his right hand to the blackness in the corner of the pub. She glanced once, her heart suddenly making its way into her mouth.
There in the corner of the room was a figure of menace she knew only too well. It was a lizard man; a demon! She watched helplessly as it slowly advanced towards her.
MJ 1994
