|Written by Henry Peter Gribbin / Artwork by Marge Simon
|The Little Pub in the Woods
My name is Maureen. My business card states I am a Reclamation Specialist. What I do is find things and sometimes
people for my clients, some of whom could be described as unsavory. At the time I wrote this little piece I was just
finishing up a job which entailed finding stolen goods and dealing harshly (to put it mildly) with those who did the
stealing. The job took me to the boondocks, and I was staying in a small motel. To make a long story short, I
found the goods and sent the thieves to the afterlife. I felt good and wanted to celebrate.
Now, for the past week that I stayed at this motel I spotted a gravel road which ran behind the building. I noticed in
the evenings quite a bit of automobile traffic running up the road into the woods. Like I said, I was in a good mood
so I asked the manager if there was a pub or some kind of club back there. He said yes there was, but he also said
it would be in my best interest to stay away. He would say no more.
This stirred my curiosity, so that evening I took a hike. About two hundred yards I discovered a low slung log cabin
nestled in the trees. There were about five or six vehicles parked outside. I could hear music coming from inside
and what sounded like people having a good time inside. A normal person would have been hesitant in going in,
especially a young good looking woman going in solo, but believe me when I tell you this that I am not a normal
person. I am not from your planet.
Anyway, I went in. The light was dim but I could make out about a dozen people sitting around a bar and sitting at
tables. The music continued but all conversation stopped. I went to an open spot at the bar and ordered a draft
beer. Within a minute conversation picked up and I was more or less left alone to drink my beer.
As the night wore on more and more people, young and old, male and female, entered the bar. Everyone stopped
for a second to stare at the stranger, but then they moved on. Around nine that night the sun set. Things started
to get a little rowdy. Around ten a shaft of moonlight fell through the window and hit the inside of the bar.
Someone let out a wolf howl and everyone started to laugh. One fellow went over and locked the door, and I soon
became the center of attention. Some of the folks started to change. What I mean is that they were switching from
their human form to some other form. I immediately thought werewolf. “Oh great,” I said to myself. Just my luck to
find the last werewolf pack in North America. I put my beer down and prepared for what was coming.
The next morning turned out to be a glorious one. The sun was shining and the air smelled fresh. I had just
finished stacking all the bodies in the back room and was preparing myself a big breakfast. The one good thing
about this little pub was that it had a well stocked kitchen.
Henry Peter Gribbin has been published in The Lorelei Signal, Flashes
in the Dark, Digital Dragon Magazine and 365 Tomorrows. These
were all flash fiction pieces.