Another?

The flash outlined the silhouetted as it stooped entering through the thick black wooden door. Shuttering the tempest like a muddy retriever. The twisted staff placed in the crux between the wall and the end of the bar. The wary travels’ body slumped onto the stool as outside drippings continued to plop to the floor. Long white knuckles clung to the edge of the bar, settling cold bones in place.

“Welcome to the Hounds Tooth Pub, what can I get ya?”

The bartender had already sized up his customer pouring a tall snout of whiskey into a tumbler.

“You look like you could use this,” the dark amber liquid sloshed from side to side as the glass came to an abrupt stop. The bartender pulled the rust colored towel from his shoulder, began pressing and twisting its stained fibers against the inside of a slick glass.

As the last drop crossed the his lips, a clap of thunder shook the cold night air. “On a night like this, only strays and lost souls be bout.” The voice was low, far away sounding, almost unperceptive.

Hairs raised on Norman's nape. Where did that come from? The stranger of course, there is no one else here.

“Sorry, did you say something mister?” His eyes met those of the dark figure at the end of the bar, “didn’t quite catch that.”

The tumbler came to rest several inches from the edge of the walnut bar, as it was slid his direction. Two gold coins flashed in the overhead light and came to rest just next to it.

“Perhaps, another. And one for yourself.” The voice was haunting almost ghoulish, but intoxicating. There was no hesitation, no temporization, he pulled down another tumbler poured, slid one the length of the bar, tipped the other in that direction and polished it off in one gulp.

“So, what brings you to our fair village on this terrible night? Business or Pleasure?” Any customer that is willing to buy me a drink deserves a little attention.

The bar was empty due to the massive deluge outside, no doubt about it. Even a single customer was better than turning in early, having to listen to Margie stammer on about the terrible weather they had been having.

This horrible weather will be the death of this place. Weeks of this soggy mess, not a single customer. You know we are going to lose everything. She wasn’t wrong, but the weather was certainly not Norman’s fault.

Maybe this guy has a story to tell. From the looks of him, I wouldn’t have guessed he had two pence to rub together, let alone shinny gold coins to throw my way. Norman quickly gather up the treasure and slid them into his upper shirt pocket, before the misses could walk around the corner and snatch them.

“A little of both, I guess. Business and pleasure. I hadn’t really stopped to think about it. No one has every really asked me such a question. Although, pleasure is really a stretch. I don’t really enjoy it, you know. Its just a job, like any other job. Somebodies got to do it… I guess. It’s not really pleasurable, not like going on vacation, or getting a puppy. It’s definitely just work.”

“I’m Norman, the proprietor of this here fine establishment, will you be needing a room, or will ya be movin' on? Nasty bit of sogg out there tonight. We have some fine rooms upstairs, I can get the misses to freshen one up for you, no trouble.” Norman trying to convince the stranger to stay.

He walked to the edge of the kitchen door, then turned. “She does a mean Sheppard’s pie, I’ll have her brings ya some right away.” He slipped partially through the door without waiting for a response.

“Margie darling, put some pie in the oven. We have a guest, seems real hungry.” With that he turned and smiled. Picked up his glass and started to wipe it dry with the towel.

“That is not necessary, but most kind of you.”

“Ah, its no trouble. Tell you what, if you gots’ one more of them gold coins, that would cover the pie, a room and another whiskey, nicely. "

“If you don’t mind. That’s some mighty fine whiskey,” the tumbler and another gold coin made their way down bar.

“Certainly. By the way, didn’t catch were you said yous' from?”

“Let’s just say, south, way south of here.”

Another flash of light from the storm flickered the lights, then the clap. Loud boisterous ringing in his ears. Norman flinched, still wiping out the tumbler.

“Not much of a fan, I see.” Referring to Normans’ reaction to the storm.

“Gosh, no. Not me, me and Ralphie, that's my older brother was almost killed as young lads in a storm like this. We got caught out in the moor, late one evening. When a power of a storm popped up out of nowhere. Nearly drown us running home there was so much rain. Lightning, thunder and mighty powerful wind it was somethin’. We dodge all kinds of stuff, I just managed to pull Ralphie out of the way of this huge branch the storm ripped from the old oak tree at the edge of our farm. We barely made it home.” Norman’s eyes glazed over, his voice slowed and softened with the memory dancing through the hollows of his mind.

“Sounds, like one of you was mighty lucky, that night.”

“Yeah, I guess we were both lucky. We huddled together in the corner of our room, shivering from the cold, hanging on to each other tight. Scared the living-daylights out of both us. To this day, neither Ralphie or me would venture out on nights like this, no sir.”

“Well, at least one of you.”

The memory had stirred Norman's soul. How lucky he was to have lived such a wonderful life after a near tragedy. He could not help the welling emotions he felt remembering back to that day he "almost lost Ralphie". But you didn't lose him. You had a wonderful time together. Fishing together, learning to drive dad's old Range Rover through the muddy fields. Loving the same woman for more than 40 years. Norman you had it good, stop being such a baby.

Norman, wiped the tear from the edge of his eyes with the same stained towel he had been using to clean and dry the glasses. Get a grip. He refocused on his customer.

“There are some wonderful fishing spots here, if you have time between business meetings. I have some extra gear, if you would like to borrow it.” The thought of gathering yet another gold coin from the stranger was coursing Norman’s head.

“While I’m fond of the river, I’m afraid I won't have such time to waste between my appointments on this trip, perhaps another time. Maybe the next time I’m through this way.” The promise of another visit filled Normans’ head with enriching thoughts, that is, how he could enrich his pockets.

“Fine, I look forward to that.”

Norman was not normally a greedy man, but with the horrible weather every bit helps keep the pub open, even during turbulent and tough days.

“I’ll go see what’s keeping the misses with that pie.” With that Norman pushed through the kitchen door and disappeared.

“Here you are, a piping hot Sheppard’s pie, like I promised. Not to brag or nothing, but misses has won more than one award with her pie. Nothing big, mind you. Just a couple of local village awards. But still, everyone in the village raves about it.”

Norman’s chest puffed up as he acknowledge her accomplishments. He was proud of his wives’ award winning cooking.

“Another.”

The stranger motioned to bring on another as he scooped a large spoonful of the pie into his mouth. Norman poured two more whiskey’s and consumed his with gusto in one large gulp.

Another gold coin rolled edge-long down the bar. Norman slapped it flat, palmed it from the bar and placed it into his pocket.

A few minutes had passed, Norman talked about his childhood, his brother and the pub. The stranger sat listening, finishing his pie.

“That was simply lovely. My compliments to your wife, she has an incredible gift. I would like to thank you as well, Norman. In my line of work, it is refreshing to meet people like you. A person willing to share his life story, his passions and fears. You have a positive and redeeming soul, as it were.”

The stranger pushed the empty bowl towards Norman, straighten his coat and cleared his thought.

From the kitchen the phone rang, “got it!” Came Margie's voice from the kitchen. Norman cocked his head to listened to his wife's side of the conversation, in case it was for him. “Who is it, darling?” Norman shouted over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen.

“That will be the police I suspect, about your brother Ralph.” Said the stranger.

Norman looked confused. “What?”

“It was the police. They found Ralph dead. He was…” Margie’s voice was quivering as she entered from the kitchen.

“In the moor,” interrupted the stranger.

“What did you say?” Only half grasping his words.

Margie grabbed her husbands arm. Her eyes filled with freight, she pulled at her husband trying to move him into the kitchen. Her face pale from the news and coming face to face with the stranger.

“Norman, come away, come away now.” The intensity of her voice rang in his ears, waking his consciousness. He turned, looked down at his arm, Margie had a firm grip, her eyes seemed cold and dark as night, as he could only stare at her.

She pulled again, this time harder and Normans’ anchorage to the ground gave way and he turned facing her.

“What do you mean, Ralph is dead? At the moor? How?” Norman’s brain was slowly restarting from the shock.

“I’m afraid she is correct. Just before I arrived here.”

How could this have happened? How could this stranger know that?

“I’m confused. How did you know my brother was dead? How did you know where. He would have never gone out on a night like this, and never to the moor.” He paused for a response.

“Aw, let me explain. You see, all those years ago you were never meant to survive that storm. You were meant to meet me then. But as you both ran for cover through the darkness of that night, holding each other, helping each other run faster and faster. I decided to give you a fighting chance. I threw debris into the winds, but you pulled your brother out of the path at just the right moment. I brought buckets of rain down upon your heads hoping to drown you, but you held your breath and continued running. I even brought lightning to strike at you, but welding untamed electricity is very tricky. Since, you made it to the safety of your house, I decided to let you live out your lives until it was necessary to claim your souls.”

The stranger rose from the stool, downed the last drop of whiskey and took hold of the stick he placed at the end of the bar.

Norman had never noticed, the stick was actually a long black handled scythe. The strangers coat was more of a hooded cloak, and his hands and face were bone.

“It’s time to go Norman. The river Styx is a long journey. Say good-bye. I have really enjoyed this time with you, it is not every soul that meets me with such trust and kindness.”

With that Norman embarrassed and kissed his wife, reached into his pocket and fished out the three gold coins.

"Promise me you will live a long an happy life." He turned from Margie and joined the reaper at the opened pub door.

The sky outside was dark and stormy. A flash illuminated a figure standing at the edge of the road. Norman recognized the silhouette, it was Ralphie, waiting.