Hi Folks
Hope you are all well - haven't been on for a while but have now finished the short story that my mate Phil Henry challenged me to about a month ago:
The challenge - write a short story around the following:
"A local guy is in his local pub but he has died a few weeks earlier - how is he there."
So hope you enjoy my story Dead Drunk:
Phil swayed back and forth at the bar. His eyes were heavy and almost shut. This was for a number of reasons. Firstly he was blind drunk. Almost literally. Secondly he was extremely tired. He hadn’t slept well for two weeks. The reason for this was the third reason. He was upset.
“I can’t believe Martin is dead,” he said loudly to his friend Neil.
“And I can’t believe Leeds have been relegated to the fourth division,” he continued.
Neil smiled down at his short friend. He was good company and Neil liked how he always had his blond quiff and leather jacket. He reminded him of Doctor Who when it came back with Christopher Eccleston. Phil was short in stature but big in heart. He knew he had to get him home soon. Phil was steaming.
“Who would have thought a squirrel bite would be so bad for someone. And he died so suddenly with it too. And you should believe it cos Leeds are shit,” laughed Neil.
Phil looked up as Neil’s muscular arm reached round him. In a way Phil envied him. He was quite tall and toned and always had the ladies after him. His dark brown eyes looked back at him. The bastard he thought.
“Better get you home soon Phil it’s quiet in here tonight and your steaming again!”
Phil decided to ignore his friend and called the bar woman over who was painting her nails.
He ordered two more drinks for them both. He wasn’t bothered how much it would cost as he had won three hundred pounds on a scratch card a few days ago.
He picked up his drink and supped a quarter of his pint before burping and raising his glass.
“Here’s to Martin.”
“Here Here,” Neil agreed and took a swig as he searched the pub for any fit women he could chat up. Sadly it was too quiet in The George and Bull pub.
Neil scanned the pub which for a town pub was clean and nicely decorated and it was also light. He was glad of this as he hated sitting in dingy dark pubs. He couldn’t see the ladies for one thing. Alas there was hardly anyone in. Two old couples sat on sofa’s around the corner chatting. A couple of workmen stood at the other end of the bar in hard work boots with clothes covered in plaster and paint. They were quite drunk also and had trouble making their roll ups. Tobacco scattered across the bar and onto the floor.
He also noticed two middle aged women sat chatting at a table nearby. One was very skinny with long blond hair, the other bigger built covered in tattoos. Normally Neil would have been over chatting them up but he knew they were more into each other than men. Shame he thought because every holes a goal.
Whilst he was trying to look down the top of the butch woman he failed to notice Phil had downed his pint and had ordered two Jack Daniels and coke.
“Here pal,” her slurred to Neil.
Neil was concerned now. He hadn’t seen Phil drink as much or as fast since the time they had sneaked into a private birthday party where it was a free bar. They had to drink and eat as much before they were discovered to be gate crashers. It had been a good run. Nearly two hours until the birthday boy, a spotty twenty one year old, went over to them to ask who they were and had the bouncers kick them out of the pub. But the damage had been done with the two of them and Martin drinking shot after shot and eating all the chicken wings and sausages on sticks.
Phil even ate a big piece of the birthday cake without it being lit for the birthday boy. Martin had been sick in a bin next to the food. And Neil reminisced how he had got the birthday boys sister to give him her number. Good times he thought. But he missed Martin as much as Phil.
“Off for a piss,” slurred Phil as he bumped into Neil and stumbled into the table with the two lesbians chatting, knocking a half of bitter over the table.
Phil steadied himself on the corner as the butch woman gave him a mucky look and was about to shout at him.
“Sorry gents,” he apologised and made his way around the corner to the toilet. He slammed into the cubicle which already had sick in the corner from earlier on in the day, and stood peeing with his head resting on the cistern. He was dozing off to sleep.
After five minutes loud banging on the cubicle brought him round. Drool dripping from his chin, wee down the right of his leg.
“Piss off you gay bastard,” Phil shouted out , his eyes barely open.
“Phil. Phil. Get out here quick it’s Martin,” shouted Neil. His voice full of panic and fright.
“Yeah he’s dead,” slurred Phil in return almost inaudibly and zipped himself up.
He eventually got the latch open on the toilet cubicle and almost fell out onto Neil. Using his hand to lean on Neil’s muscular toned shoulder.
Neil walked Phil out of the toilet and pointed towards the bar. His finger shaking in fright.
“Look,” he exclaimed.
There at the bar was Martin, walking and banging into it like he didn’t realise it was there. The suit he had been buried in was dirty and decomposing. His skin was pale white, with a green tinge to it and the smell of rotting flesh hit right back to the toilets.
Most of the people in the bar were staring at him in horror and fright. Except the workmen at the end of the bar who had just finished rolling up two monster spliffs, ready to go smoke them out the back in the smokers yard.
Phil wasn’t frightened either. Through very blurred vision all he could see was his old pal Martin stood at the bar. He didn’t realise the implications of this.
“Martin,” he shouted over to his very dead friend. He turned to Neil who was looking pale and nervous. “He must have been in a coma pal, at last some good news,”
With that he wobbled over to his mate at the bar and put his arms around him and gave him a hug.
“Martin your ok,” he slurred, “Am I glad to see you. Have you heard about Leeds? What an injustice.”
Phil didn’t notice that Martins eyes were rolled back in the sockets of that maggots had created a hole into the left side of his high cheek bones and could be seen on the edges of the flesh wriggling about.
“Three pints please,” Phil shouted out at the barmaid who was now backed up in the furthest corner of the bar away from them shaking.
She nodded and warily walked over to them. The sound of the glasses clanging together echoed through the pub as she shook nervously trying to pull the lads some pints with her long neatly painted red nails.
By the time she had finished the third pint Neil had moved to the other side of Phil who had picked his pint up and started drinking it.
“Phil, you should move away from him,” warned Neil.
Phil ignored him, drinking his pint and watching his mate Martin who was staring at the pint then at Phil.
Martin moved closer to Phil sniffing at him.
“Phoood,” Martin groaned.
“Of course,” said Phil “You’ll be starving, a bag of dry roasted nuts please,” he asked the frightened barmaid.
She tore down some nuts and threw them onto the bar and moved back to the relative safety of her corner. Silence hung in the air a few moments.
The silence was suddenly broken by the main door loudly banging open and a small chubby black haired lass stumbled in followed by her tall lanky boyfriend who looked fed up.
“And I said to your Mam,” she moaned to the poor sap behind her, then stopped dead as she saw Martin at the bar.
“Oh fuck. Didn’t think things could get worse. It’s Martins ex,” Neil said to Phil who was oblivious to all as he was swaying wildly on the spot.
Phil suddenly fell backwards. Luckily Neil was there to catch him before his head hit the floor. He was totally out of it. Unconscious through the amount of alcohol he had consumed.
Neil got his mobile and rang the local taxi firm to pick him and Phil up as Martin’s ex stormed up to Martin and shouted abuse at him.
“You sick bastard,” she started at him, “You’ve played one sick trick too many pretending to be dead. I thought I’d lost you.”
“Phood,” repeated Martin who suddenly leaned in fast on his ex and bit and tore at her throat, ripping it open. Dark red blood shot out everywhere from her throat spraying the bar area as she fell to the floor lifeless.
“Jesus,” shouted Neil who picked up a pool cue from the table behind him.
The two workmen at the end of the bar just stared in horror. The two lesbians just sat staring as they couldn’t get past Martin who had now started tearing strips of belly flesh from his ex and eating it greedily. Blood running all over his hands and face and the pub floor.
Martin pulled out his ex’s long intestines and they hung from his mouth as he chewed them. One of the pretty lesbian was sick at the sight.
The woman’s new boyfriend had sensibly turned tail and ran back out the door, into the street and into the front of an oncoming car which hit him and dragged him under the wheels. The back wheel crushing his skull under the cars weight.
Back inside the pub the butch lesbian was going to make her move also and get past Martin who was crouched down eating his ex’s liver. The sudden movement as she stood up to jump past him made the dead Martin act on instinct who swiftly grabbed her fat ankle and bite a large chunk of flesh from it. She screamed in pain and with her other leg kicked him and jumped past, running out the pub leaving her lover crouched in the corner of her seat.
It was at this point Martin saw the unconscious body of Phil laying on the floor and started to crawl over to his legs.
Luckily Neil was seeing what was going to happen and readied the pool cue.
“Sorry Martin,” he said loudly.
Zombie Martin looked up as Neil swung the pool cue with all his might at his head. He flew backwards with the force and the pool cue stuck into the side of his skull as his eyeball popped out of the socket and rolled onto the floor covered in green eye gunk.
Martin landed next to the workman nearest to him and bit his leg. The workman cried out.
“Mother fucker,” he shouted down at Martin then proceeded to stamp repeatedly onto his face and skull with his hard work boots smashing his skull to bits as blood and brains spattered everywhere over the pubs wooden floor.
It was at this point a beep of a car horn was heard outside. Neil picked Phil’s slim, small frame from the floor and carried him through the side door to a waiting taxi.
“What’s happening here boss?” enquired the small and chubby asian taxi driver.
Neil laid Phil on the back seat of the taxi and hurried round the side of the pub onto the main road. It was utter carnage. What was left of Martin’s ex’s boyfriend laid under the rear wheel of a black Audi. A lot of people stood around looking in shock. Some were filming it on their phones as an emergency ambulance fast response car pulled up.
A few feet from the pub the butch lesbian was coughing up blood.
Time to go thought Neil. Will have to drop Phil off at his flat he thought . Neil would have took Phil back to his but didn’t want to be cleaning any sick up, plus his gerbils weren’t used to strangers in there.
Neil jogged back round to the taxi and gave the driver the instructions of where to go.
Phil woke groggily at the sound of his mobile ringing loudly. A pounding, hangover headache hitting him instantly as he tried to open his eyes as he looked at the time on his mobile. Eight Thirty am.
Who’s ringing at this time he thought and answered the phone.
“Hello,” he answered hoarsely.
“Phil it’s Neil. You alright. You remember last night?”
“Not really,” replied Phil “Can you ring me at lunch? I need to go back to sleep.”
“What! You don’t remember Martin?” asked Neil.
“Of course, we buried him the other week,” answered Phil.
“No he was in the pub last night. Don’t you remember. He was some kind of zombie,”
“You watch too much sci-fi,” replied Phil.
“Martin ate out his ex on the pub floor!” exclaimed Neil.
“That’s nothing,” Phil retorted “ he once got barred for having sex with her on the pool table.”
Someone banging on Phil’s door moved him away from the conversation. He went to the window and looked out. The sunlight blinded his already sore eyes and he just saw an outline of a person stood at his door.
Luckily for Phil he failed to spot that it was the workman from the pub. All pale skinned and blood on his hands and down his face. A green wound on his left leg.
“What’s happening?” called Neil down the phone.
“Someone at the door,” replied Phil.
“Don’t answer it,” urged Neil.
“I’m not going to. I think it’s a fucking Jehovah’s witness,” answered Phil.
“Phil listen,” started Neil.
“Neil will text you this afternoon,” Phil had cut him off. “I’ve still got some scratch card money so my treat. We’ll drink till we’re dead. See ya later.”
With that Phil turned his phone off and stumbled back into his bedroom. He laid down on the bed and ignoring the noise of banging outside and screaming he fell back into a deep hangover sleep.
