Short Story / Four Pints
“Four pints of lager please.” Said the young man at the bar. This was the second round of drinks he had bought for his three friends and he, and Sam the landlord was a bit concerned that if they carried on drinking at this rate they might get a bit too rowdy for his liking. However looking at the four men in front of him he decided that telling them to leave might be easier said than done.
The lad who had just ordered the round was not particularly tall, standing just short of six feet, but he was heavily built with a thick barrel chest and arms as thick as Sam’s legs.
Mike, he had heard his friends call him. His loud and friendly demeanour, which was a theme throughout the group, made a good mask for the brooding and edgy awareness that Sam could see in his dark green eyes. This was clearly a man who was intimate with trouble and although not looking for it seemed always ready to react to it.
His friends painted a similarly mixed picture to Sam. The first of them a man called Pete was very similar to Mike in his build and stature, if anything he was maybe an inch shorter. But where as Mike was fair with green eyes, Pete was dark with blue eyes.
To Sam, Pete seemed the most genuine of the group in his loud exuberance, however last night when trouble had nearly started in the bar with some of the locals, Sam had seen a gleeful madness come into those eyes at the first sniff of trouble. It was as if the threat of physical violence was another entertaining distraction that he could throw himself into, with the same abandon as he now drank his beer. This touch of madness, mixed with his build and an unusual tribal tattoo, that snaked it’s way from his left wrist, round his left arm and up to stop on the side of his neck; gave Pete a very imposing presence.
The third member of the group was called Jon and although he was as loud and outgoing as his two friends that was where the similarity ended. He was shorter than the other two at about five feet eight inches, with dark hair and eyes and although solidly built nowhere near their size. He seemed to be able to handle his ale less than his two friends, and it had been his drunken antics that had nearly caused the trouble last night.
The three had started drinking as soon as they had checked in to the inn yesterday afternoon, apparently they were in New Abbey visiting a friend of theirs’, a local lad called Lee. Sam had known Lee nearly all the lad’s life, ever since his family had moved up from Manchester when he was only four. Since arriving twenty years ago, Lee had failed to bond with the local children who had mocked him for his strange accent and shy behaviour. Although the mocking had eventually stopped, Lee had never really forgiven his peers and always kept them at arms length.
Lee had started to come out of his shell and build his self-confidence when he returned from a Karate competition in Manchester where he had first met Mike. Lee had spent most of his life practising Martial Arts, but no one in the village had known until he got in a fight with a man from one of the local farms, about four years ago. The man had attacked Lee for talking to his sister, and after trying initially to simply avoid the man’s clumsy blows, Lee had eventually had to fight back and had proceeded to break the man’s arm, nose and three ribs. The police investigation had of course confirmed this as self-defence. Since then people in the village had been sure to keep their distance.
Lee had arrived in the bar early yesterday evening, by which time his friends had a good few hours of drinking behind them. Lee didn’t normally drink, and Sam remembered thinking how strange it was to see him in the bar, let alone ordering a pint of beer.
For a couple of hours, the four friends had been the only people in Sam’s bar, until the late shift finished at the local saw mill and some of the locals had come in to wash the sawdust from their mouths. The local lads had immediately been wary of the four friends and were quite shocked to see Lee drinking and laughing, in what they considered their bar.
So, when Jon had got up to go to the toilet and proceeded to fall into their table, his intoxicated legs momentarily unable to support him. They had wasted no time in jumping up to lay about him. What had happened next had convinced Sam that these apparently loud fun seeking lads from Manchester were even more dangerous than they appeared.
As soon as the first of the locals had started to move, the remaining three friends were in motion, and moving with a quickness and purpose that shocked Sam after the amount they had drank. Mike had immediately dived towards the biggest of the local lads; a known thug called Tom.
Simultaneously Pete had moved to block off the three lads to Mike’s left and Lee the two to his right. Although they had not actually struck any blows they had immediately imposed themselves on the situation.
Mike had placed his left hand on Tom’s chest and said simply: “Whoa there fella, where are you going in such a hurry?”
“A’m goin, ta put ma boot throu yer pal’s hed!” Tom had replied; taking into account the fact that he and his cronies had at that point outnumbered Mike and his friends two to one with Jon passed out on the floor. Without further conversation Mike was in motion his right hand moved up from Tom’s chest to grasp his windpipe and squeeze it making Tom gag and start to struggle.
“Move a muscle and I will close my hand and kill you now.” Mike had said calmly the remaining locals had moved to help their leader but Lee and Pete had stopped them in their tracks. Lee with a hand on the chest of each man in front of him, whilst Pete had grabbed two of the men in front of him by their shirtfronts, whilst freezing the other to the spot with a maniacal glare which seemed to guarantee pain.
Tom froze on the spot. “Now, we are going to escort you and your friends outside and you are all going to go home before I lose my temper. Do you understand?” Tom nodded his agreement, with a look of fear Sam had never seen in his eyes before. At this Mike marched him by the throat to the inn’s front door followed by his two friends and Tom’s cronies. Once outside Mike had simply used his grip to force Tom to the floor, turned around and followed by Pete and Lee returned to the inside of the bar, shutting the door behind them.
By the time they came back in Jon was sitting up on the floor shaking his head and laughing at the state he found himself in. When they saw this, the three friends; who had moments ago seemed capable of violence the like of which New Abbey and Sam had never seen; had simply laughed picked him up and asked a stunned Sam for another round of drinks.
That casual acceptance of the potentially violent encounter, was what had Sam so cautious now. He didn’t want to see a repeat of last night.
“Have you lads had a chance to see the monument yet?” he asked.
“What monument?” Asked Jon, looking over at Lee.
“It’s a tower on the hill behind the village.” Said Lee. “It was put up to commemorate the battle of Waterloo and the troops that died there.”
“How far is it?” Asked Mike, seeming genuinely interested.
“About a half hour walk away.” Replied Lee.
“Here’s an idea.” Said Mike, “ what say we take a stroll up there and sober up a bit before we head into the town tonight for a proper drink.” Sam was pleased to see that the lads all thought this a great idea and was relieved when they finished their beer thanked him and set off for a sobering walk.
*
The four friends had been walking for some time, and were almost at their goal. They had passed the time on their trek by chatting about this and that, reminiscing about their youth, nights on the town and of course women. They had succeeded in walking off the effects of most of the beer they had drunk that day.
The monument that was their destination was situated atop a relatively small but very steep hill. A winding path meandered its way up the slope with the aim of taking the edge off the steep climb. Rather than following the path the friends had decided to take the direct route and head straight to the summit.
The hill itself was covered with a forest of pine trees. Lee had said that apparently the position of the trees in the forests on this and the other hills around was meant to represent the deployment of Wellington’s troops during the battle of waterloo. Lee was often coming up with useless trivia of this nature, but at least this one was relevant, unlike his usual random pearls.
Mike looked up and estimated that they would make the crest of the hill within a couple of minutes. It was a pleasant day, warm without being oppressive and the sun, which was blazing high over head, was shaded by the branches of the pine trees above them, being allowed only occasional chances to break the canopy with an unfiltered shaft of light.
Gradually the trees began to thin out, until eventually they disappeared altogether leaving the crown of the hill open to the elements. At the very centre of the summit stood the stone tower known as the monument.
As Mike approached it, he took in its features. It was a round tower, standing he guessed around one hundred feet high, with a width at its base of about twenty feet, it looked like a huge finger sticking up from the ground. It was made of moss covered, rough cut, pale grey stone, with a crenellated top and arrow slits placed around its surface. It stood majestically atop its hill looking down on the inferior trees that surrounded it.
“That’s pretty cool.” Said Jon, staring up at the structure before them.
“Is there a way in?” Pete asked looking hopefully at Lee.
“There’s a door round the other side, but it doesn’t open.” Replied Lee, “I’ve tried to open it myself loads of times, but it’s stuck solid and the bolt across it is rusted in place.”
At that Mike’s natural curiosity got the better of him ”Come on lets go and have a look at this door and see if we can get it open.” He set off at a jog, his enthusiasm making him oblivious to the complaints from his muscles after the climb up the hill. When the others caught up they found him stood motionless before an open door in the wall of the tower.
“Tell me you guys saw that?” whispered Mike.
“Saw what?” Said Jon, staring at the open portal.
“The Door,” Mike said. “I came round the corner, and was just about to try the bolt, when the thing opened it’s bloody self”
“Stop winding us up” Said Lee with a tinge of reprimand in his voice for what he was sure was Mike’s attempt to spook them.
Mike didn’t know what to do, “I swear on my mothers life, that god damned door just opened it’s self.” He looked at his friends’ faces and could see they still needed further convincing. He knew what he had seen and was worried enough without having to be concerned with convincing his friends.
Besides something about the doorway was distracting him, it was the smell. He couldn’t place it but something smelt very bad and it was coming from that tower. He had smelt something similar once but could not recall where or when, but his mind was screaming at him that something was not right.
“Come on then” Said Pete, “Now we’re here let’s go and see what lies through Mike’s Wooo Magic Door” the last words dripping with sarcasm.
“Go screw yourself Pete!” Mike retorted, “If you want to go in there, then off you go I’ll be right behind you, but I’m not making it up, that door opened itself and the place smells rancid.”
Jon was already peering into the doorway with his cigarette lighter in hand, trying to illuminate the tower’s interior. “Hey guys, there’s two staircases here” he said, “one goes up the tower but the other seems to go underneath it”
This was the point thought Mike, that if this was a film people would be sat there thinking “Don’t do it, do not go in that tower, it’s just stupid, you’ll all die and you know it”. But he also knew that built in foolhardy stupidity was going to ensure his friends were going in there and they were definitely going to choose to investigate the downward staircase first.
For a split second he thought about turning around and leaving them to what ever the tower had in stall for them. That smell still had him worried but he knew that if he left them now, he would be on the receiving end of no end of taunts later on. Besides he was not the kind of man to leave his friends to face any trouble without him, and for some reason he knew that tower, particularly that staircase meant trouble.
Jon lit his cigarette lighter and thrust his arm down the descending staircase, Mike could see from the dim light that the staircase had not been used for some time, the dust lay thick and undisturbed across the rough stone steps.
“Which way then boys?” asked Pete “Up or Down?”
“I don’t know about you, but I know where those stairs go.” Said Jon signalling the upward staircase. “I’m more interested in going down there.” With that Jon set off walking down the staircase kicking up dust that had lain undisturbed for who knew how long.
Mike watched as Pete and Lee followed him down and resigned himself to following. He pulled out his zippo lighter and followed them down into the bowels of the tower.
They walked single file down the stairs, cautiously navigating their way by the lighters that he and Jon had ignited. They provided a minimal illumination to the dark staircase and they were forced to feel the wall to guide their tentative steps.
After they had been walking for about two minutes Jon pulled to a stop at the front of their explorers column.
“What’s wrong Jon?” Mike asked, from the back of the group he couldn’t see what had stopped Jon in his tracks.
“Nothing’s wrong” replied Jon “But there is a door here.”
“Come on then” said Pete “open it already”
Mike had noticed that the smell, that had been bothering him all the way down the staircase, was now quite powerful, the rest of his friends had even noticed it. In fact he could see Lee trying not to gag at the foetid odour. The four friends huddled together warily watching the door as Jon leaned forward to open it. When he turned the handle and pushed the door open, he revealed a scene out of a medieval nightmare.
Beyond this forgotten portal at the bottom of the tower was a large stone walled room the contents of which were as horrifying as they were surreal. The four friends stood poised at the doorway stunned motionless by the sight inside. The room was filled with historic tools of torture; Mike logged the ones he recognised as his brain struggled to comprehend what he was seeing.
In the centre of the room stood a large rack, over in the far left-hand corner an iron maiden, the right hand corner held a rack of pincers, knives and other wicked looking tools of a torturer’s trade.
None of this was what made the room horrific, the horror came from the fact that all of them had quite recently been used. Everything was coated in a sheen of blood, which was still fresh.
The worst of it was the walls of the room however; here hung lifeless corpses suspended by hooks impaled through their skulls. The bodies were in various stages of decay; from skeletons barely holding onto the skin which once covered living flesh to the recently deceased whose bodies hung over the contents of their released bowls.
It was at this point that Mike remembered where he had come across the nauseating odour before. Many years ago he had visited a slaughterhouse with school, he recalled now the same stench of fresh blood, excrement and dying flesh that had made him vomit as a child. This however was much worse this was human flesh before him.
His three companions and he staggered forwards into the room; none of them wanted to but the repulsive scene before them dragged their stunned bodies closer. As Mike passed through the doorway at the end of the disorientated group, he heard a creaking coming from behind him; he turned slowly, in time to see the door slowly swing shut on its ancient and rusted hinges.
He attacked the handle with all of his panicked strength, but no matter how much adrenaline fuelled force he brought to bare, the door refused to budge, somehow it had sealed itself to him. He turned his head from his efforts to see the wild look in the faces of his friends as they realised what had happened and knew that it was reflected in his own.
“I knew we should have stayed in the pub,” said Jon.
*
The group all tried in vain to open the door by which they had entered the torture chamber, they even used some of the torture implements as tools but they met with no success. After the initial blind panic died away, they took stock of their situation and discovered a second door at the far end of the chamber. This door like the other was sealed shut and resisted their best efforts to open it.
“What the hell are we going to do now?” asked Lee, to the group as a whole. “We are stuck in this hole and there is no way out.”
Mike could sense the despair in his friend’s voice. He looked around the rest of his friends, who all seemed dejected, lost and a little bit scared. Mike had never seen his friends scared like this before and he knew exactly how they felt. Sure he had been spooked out before, or nervous before a fight or a rugby match but never actually scared. This fear was something that seeped into his bones a feeling of dread and helplessness combined.
“I think that decision is going to be made for us.” Said Pete under his breath. He had his shoulder against the second door and had been trying to force it open, but the solid wood had denied his best efforts to bend it to his will.
“What do you mean?” asked Jon who was feverishly pacing the floor. At this point Pete put a finger to his lips in the universal sign for quiet and via a series of hand signals conveyed to the rest of them that someone was coming to the door.
Mike, Jon and Lee stood motionless in the centre of the room and clearly heard the noise of heavy bolts being withdrawn on the other side of the door. Pete meanwhile positioned himself so that he was at the side of the doorway.
The door opened outwards onto a dimly lit staircase where a short stocky man stood with his back to them he dragged a second figure behind him by a chain. The second figure was wrapped in rags and bound by chains with a hood over it’s head blinding it to it’s surroundings. The short man was dressed in dark purple with knee-high leather boots. From the back his clothes looked like something out of the medieval pictures Mike had seen in history textbooks as a boy.
Once the man had dragged his prisoner into the room he looked up and saw Pete staring at him, he was as of yet unaware of the other three friends stood staring at his back. “Hi” Said Pete, holding his hands in front of him, to show he was unarmed. That was when things went mad.
It all happened so quickly that Mike wasn’t sure what exactly was going on. He saw the stocky little man reach for something at his belt, then he saw him flying through the air to land hard on his back. When Mike looked up he saw Pete shaking his right hand. “Damn that little psycho’s got a hard chin.”
“What the hell was that for?” shouted Lee as he turned from the unconscious man to Pete.
“Look at his hand, you dick!” growled Pete. And they all looked down at the man lay on the floor. The man held a vicious looking dagger in his right hand; the blade was jagged and about ten inches long. “He was going to fucking stab me,” said Pete, as he stood over his defeated foe.
“OK, then what now?” asked Jon, looking around his friends for an idea of their next course of action. Pete and Lee started arguing about what to do next. When Mike remembered the prisoner that was being escorted in by Pete’s assailant.
When he looked up he saw them making a dash for the door, the hood removed from their head and lay on the floor. He dived across his three friends and the sleeping man and managed to grab hold of the trailing chain that hung from the neck of the fleeing captive. As the chain pulled taught the prisoner swung round, swinging their bound hands in a clubbing motion straight at Mike’s head.
Mike’s natural reflexes took over at that point and he used his free left hand to parry the blow and hook both his attacker’s arms underneath his left arm. It was at this point that he got his first look at the prisoner’s face and realised that they were in fact a woman. It was hard to tell at a glance, as her face was bruised, swollen and coated in mud and dried blood. But without a doubt underneath all that this was definitely a woman.
“Whoa there,” said Mike quietly the woman’s eyes looked wild and panicked. “We’re not going to hurt you,” he said slowly. His friends had stopped their arguing and were now crowded round Mike, trying to see what was going on.
Without releasing his hold Mike turned to Jon, “OK guys, here is what we do next, Jon search the guy on the floor and take anything you think may be of use: weapons, keys and the like. When you are done with that you and Lee can tie him up and gag him. We don’t need him raising any alarms. Pete, you guard the door. Make sure it doesn’t shut and listen for anyone else coming down here.”
“OK” said Pete “but what are you going to do, oh mighty leader?”
“I am going to try and untie this girl and find out from her where in hell we are and what the fuck is going on” replied Mike “and don’t get shirty I am just trying to get us out of here.”
“OK, OK,” said Pete I’m just a bit wired mate. With that Pete picked up a branding iron from a cold brazier and stood in the doorway looking up at the dark staircase.
Meanwhile Jon and Lee set about searching and securing the man Pete had knocked out. Mike walked the woman to a bench along the wall of the room and pushed her down until she was sat on it. He knelt down and examined her bonds. The chains that restrained her wrists and the collar and chain around her neck were secured by large old-fashioned pad locks. They looked strong and solid to Mike and he couldn’t think of a way to get them off. During his examination the woman sat silent staring at him, she seemed scared and in shock.
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““Four pints of lager please.” Said the young man at the bar.” – I don’t know about the phrasing of your opening line, it reminds me of the books I read in elementary school, well, minus the pints and bar thing of course.
You have some grammer mistakes that I am sure you would have caught if you had read through this more carefully. Read it out loud and fix the things that seem unnatural to you, there are alot of them in this story.
” the round was not particularly tall, standing just short of six feet,” – That sounds rather tall to me. Of course the tallest person in my family is five foot four, that probablly has something to do with.
I cannot follow who these people are. Who is Mike? Who is Sam? Maybe you can make it more clear from the start, because I have no idea who is who.
I am sorry, I can comment no further, I actually cannot follow enough of the story to make many valid points. I am sorry.
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This felt like two different stories. One is a story about friends hanging out at a bar, and the other is something out of a horror movie.
One of the problems is I felt like the story didn’t engage me as a reader. It was often a telling of event, rather than revealing of them. This is a great example:
That was when things went mad.
Instead of telling the reader things went mad, show him with action and dialogue.
There are quite a few grammar issues, missing or unneeded commas mainly. I’ll highlight a few.
However(,) looking at the four men in front of him he decided that telling them to leave might be easier said than done.
To Sam, Pete seemed the most genuine of the group in his loud exuberance,(; instead of ,) however(,) last night when trouble had…
It was(,) as if the threat of physical violence was another entertaining distraction that (that is not needed)he could throw himself into,(, is not needed) with the same abandon as he now drank his beer.
You need to review dialogue punctuation.
Example:
“Four pints of lager please.” Said the young man at the bar.
Should read:
“Four pints of lager please,” said the…
“What monument?” Asked Jon
Should read:
“What monument?” asked Jon
Two general comments:
unusual tribal tattoo is a good descriptor but anymore how unusual is a tribal tattoo? If you want different try African, Celtic or Arabic.
The third member of the group was called Jon…Is his name not Jon? Maybe change to Jon, the third member of the group…
Hope this helps.
started out well but i lost interest quickly because of the writting style. you seemed a bit flowery and roundabout to me. maybe clearer cut writting without throwing 4 different characters at the reader at once? happy writing :)
Okay -- is Sam the landlord some kind of sinister figure -- sending these young thugs to the monument so they’ll run afoul of the mad torturer? -- or is he an agent of good, sending them there to do him in? -- or does he just send them there to get them the hell out of his pub, foreseeing nothing of the encounter they’re about to have? What’s the reason for starting out with Sam’s point of view, in other words?
Point of view can be the very devil, in my experience. My first novel nearly bogged down in point of view, and I’m still tinkering with it. Considering how important the very begining of any story, of any length, is apt to be, you have to have good reasons for chosing the point of view you do for that opening. The way Sam just drops out of the picture makes me wonder why you chose him.
Lots of writers go with first person narrative because of the point of view difficulty, but I hate that—it seems easy, but doing it so it means something takes real talent. I almost never read a book that starts out “I”, or even hints at it. I always think of Huck Finn or Catcher in the Rye and I know whatever it is I’m reading probably won’t measure up to that standard.
Sorry, that was an off-topic rant, I guess. Anyhow, point of view is damned important.
The opening of your story dragged a bit, the description of the charactors all in a row didn’t really work. You should work in descriptions of people while action is going on. The way have done it, it reads like a police line up. Every sentence should move the story forward, developing charactors through action and thought.
“In fact he could see Lee trying not to gag at the foetid odour.” This is a good sentance it lets you the author step back behind the curtain.
I think you could write very well if you apply your self to showing more and telling less. Try writing something with less main charactors it’s difficult enough to show and feel and think for one, why try with four.
hope this helps
B.
I think you have a great start to a short story/novel/whatever you want to finish it up as. Strong character development in a short, unhurried style kept the story moving right along. I also thought the way you handled the dialect kept it from getting to booged down while still keeping it regional for us not use to the slang. & the guys tring to open the doors with the tourcher devices was a nice, but made me want to know exactly what they had picked up to use (like Pete awkwardly swung the mace around & nearly bashed Sam’s or who ever’s head off). I cannot wait to see what the woman says when you get the gag off of her lips!
I would have given this piece a point higher for it’s sheer entertainment value, but there’s one thing that slightly bothers me, I think – and that’s that everything jumped into high gear so fast.
I’m not sure if that was your aim, but I’m usually the type to enjoy getting to know more about characters; interesting ones, at least. So now here is the problem: these characters, this group, they seem pretty interesting and I find myself actually wanting to know more – yet you don’t provide much of anything else.
This isn’t finished, and even if you never finish it, I’ll say that I’d like you to go a little further than you have. You left it hanging, which is actually a nice technique, but when accompanied by the fact that you’ve given no evidence to make us as readers believe that you’ll finish it, it makes more for a maddeningly lame thing, rather than a maddeningly curious thing.
Other than that all, I enjoyed it to its fullest. I just read another person’s short story, too, and he left his unfinished as well. It’s a thing that drives me crazy, because so far, yours and his are the only two that have actually been worth the effort put forth to read.
The way you write is fairly captivating, I think. There’s more of a focus on events and situation than details and intricacies (I’m not sure the spelling on that is right).
So bravo, for the better part. I look forward, should you choose to write it, reading more. Sooner than later, for my sake.
If you’re going to write a series based on a phrase go for it! By all means Sue Grafton has made a carrier doing the same thing doing just that M is for Murder, D is for Death and so on but you have to start what you finish.
If what you’re looking for here on Urbis is someone to tell you you have writing talent then you may or may not have come to the right place. Some will tell you that you have written a good piece some may shred you because they don’t like your writing style. What you have to do is ask yourself is, “Do I enjoy writing? And do I enjoy not finishing what I start?”
As far as you work goes, it has a lot of merit but you have got to break up some of those long paragraphs. You just have too much going on from too many sources, all at once. That’s why when you read a book you see character breaks so much, it’s so the reader doesn’t get lost. I’ll give you an example:
“Four pints of lager please.” Said the young man at the bar.
This was the second round of drinks he had bought for his three friends and he, and Sam the landlord was a bit concerned that if they carried on drinking at this rate they might get a bit too rowdy for his liking. However looking at the four men in front of him he decided that telling them to leave might be easier said than done.
The lad who had just ordered the round was not particularly tall, standing just short of six feet, but he was heavily built with a thick barrel chest and arms as thick as Sam’s legs. Mike, he had heard his friends call him. His loud and friendly demeanor, which was a theme throughout the group, made a good mask for the brooding and edgy awareness that Sam could see in his dark green eyes. This was clearly a man who was intimate with trouble and although not looking for it seemed always ready to react to it.
His friends painted a similarly mixed picture to Sam.
The first of them a man called Pete was very similar to Mike in his build and stature, if anything he was maybe an inch shorter. But where as Mike was fair with green eyes, Pete was dark with blue eyes. To Sam, Pete seemed the most genuine of the group in his loud exuberance, however last night when trouble had nearly started in the bar with some of the locals, Sam had seen a gleeful madness come into those eyes at the first sniff of trouble. It was as if the threat of physical violence was another entertaining distraction that he could throw himself into, with the same abandon as he now drank his beer. This touch of madness, mixed with his build and an unusual tribal tattoo, that snaked it’s way from his left wrist, round his left arm and up to stop on the side of his neck; gave Pete a very imposing presence.
I hope this helps in some way. Good luck
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