Fright Night
Michael James Treacy
Fright Night
Bert and Harry had met at the ‘Hunter’s Moon’ village pub every Wednesday night at 7 pm for the last 15 years. Both now suffered from ‘old man’s bladder’, and restricted themselves to two pints each. Harry, being the more progressive, would choose lasagne or a pasta dish for his meal, whereas Bert would invariably choose fish and chips, or pie and mash. They always sought out their favourite corner of the lounge to sit.
“Nice pint,” Harry remarked after he’d taken his first sip. “Did you get your results from the doctor?”
“Aye,” his friend replied. “Blood pressure high, cholesterol high, blood-sugar high. The tablets will make me rattle.”
“It’s a bit of a bugga, but good to be alive.”
“Did you do anything interesting this week?” Bert took the conversation in a totally different direction.
“Yes,” came the response. “I went to the art gallery. It was mainly to get out of the rain when I was shopping up the town centre.”
“Anything interesting to see?”
“Yes… a weird painting. It had three ethereal creatures flying through a forest, and three wolves running beside them.”
“Blimey, that’s a strange one. Were they fairies?”
“Too scary for fairies. I think it was an Irish painter, so they’re probably banshees.”
“If Ireland is involved, they could be leprechauns.”
“Nah… leprechauns are male and friendly. These were female, and enough to scare the wotsaname out of you.”
“What were the wolves doing? Were they chasing the banshees?”
“No, just running beside them. Apparently, banshees fly around at night, and call out the names of poor souls who are about to pass on.”
“Aw heck… I don’t want to hear them for a while yet.”
The two friends continued with small talk while they each finished their meal, and downed their second pint. At 9 o’clock sharp, they headed along the winding lane to their respective homes. It was a cold, blustery night and they pulled their coats tightly around themselves. There were no street lights while they walked alongside Witchy Wood, but Harry had brought his powerful flashlight, which partially illuminated their way home.
“Spooky old night,” Bert observed. “I hope we don’t bump into any of those banshee creatures.”
“Nah,” Harry scoffed, “you don’t get any of those on this side of the Irish Sea… only friendly little fairies round these parts.”
“What’s that?” Bert suddenly asked. “Shine your torch over here… there’s something in the bushes.”
His friend swept the torch in the direction indicated, and the light picked out a pair of demonic-looking eyes. Both men jumped back in fear.
“Bluddy ‘ell!” Bert shouted. “It’s one of those wolves you saw in that painting.”
“Wait… it’s just a fox,” Harry replied as the eyes disappeared, and the sound of an animal was heard scurrying through the undergrowth.
“Gawd blimey,” Bert gasped. “Almost scared the wotsaname outa me.”
“Come on… we need to get ourselves home.” Harry advised. “We’re imagining things.”
They hurried down the winding lane, when suddenly they heard an eerie sound coming from the direction of the wood… woo-woo, woo-woo, woo-woo.
“Flipping ‘eck!” Bert yelled. “It’s those banshees! Try not to listen if they call out your name, Harry.”
“It’s just an owl,” his friend corrected. “You’re scaring yourself… and me!”
Hurrying further down the winding lane, they heard yet another rustling. “Check it out if you want,” Bert gasped. “I’m scared to look.”
Harry shone his torch towards the sound, and this time, the light pick out two startled pale faces with wide, staring eyes. “Bluddy ‘ell!” exclaimed both men as they took off down the winding lane with as much alacrity as their geriatric legs could muster.
The two bodies that owned the staring eyes suddenly leapt bolt upright. “Was that my Dad?” A female voice asked in alarm. “He said he was gonna kick you up the jacksie if he ever caught you again.”
“Huh?” a male voice replied in equal alarm. “Let’s get out of here.” Both figures then ran up the winding lane with as much alacrity as their teenage legs could muster.
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