The Rat Catcher's Revenge- Creative Writing

The Rat Catcher's Revenge- Creative Writing
It all started at the old pub belonging to Jack Martin. The Jokers pub has been empty for more than two years, there is stood faded and detached, away from the lights and next to a canal. Its gloom was added by foliage gone wild. A few windows had been shattered and its once open doors were now boarded by rotting timbers covered in rolls of moss and unsuspecting fungi. The undergrowth was tall and trees hid the upper floor. Inside hung tattered curtains stained with years of tobacco smoke. An equally worn patterned carpet was partially covering the lounge bar floor. A couple of chairs were stacked in the corners; they were covered in the same vinyl fabrics as used in the fifties. The mahogany bar where Jack stood broad to serve his customers still held its character although was without liquor and glasses. Just dust and an odd broken ashtray remained. Rumour had it that Jack Martin slowly drank himself to death. Anyone who knew him spoke of his huge character, his dirty jokes, the sly wink and the ability to drink whisky with his cronies all night and still arise to open the bar the next day. ?Full of life? he was known as. In the pub more than just drinking happened. Card tables for illegal poker were notorious and many a fight had taken place for reasons too grim to discuss. It was the only place for me to go that I could forget my mundane day. After all I needed the odd smoke after a day with the odd bunch at the factory. I liked to go to the pub and imagine the scenes of the men drinking. I sometimes even took a small bottle of scotch on a Friday, which was my treat. My visits first began when I found an old £5 note amongst debris along the canal. The note had clearly been written on the back ?J.M.? The not was not legal anymore but I kept it in my wallet. This Friday seemed darker then ever. My watch only showed 19.30 pm as I sat in the chair with my back to the bar. The rain had been torrential for the past twenty-four hours and still falling. I could hear different noises that night. The rain was coming in through the broken windows but there seemed to be a different sort of sound inside the room. The carpet had squeaked when I made my way in and although it was a definite sound of water I couldn?t make out the sound itself. The darkness became more intense than the sound, and then the sound became more intense than the darkness. ?What was happening?? I could no longer se then windows. My eyes were stonily fixed to the floor. The carpet began to rise. The noise became so deafening even with my whole hands over my ears; its fierceness would not stop. Then it began, this pungent smell. Then it registered in my mind. I was alongside the canal and it was raining. I relaxed, and then I jumped. The noise had changed, I could hear squealing. The squealing of a lot of rats! I could only hear the rats, not see. I froze on the chair. The chain began to shake, my whole body started to shake. One rat was now gnarling my leg. My scream broke the silence; my second scream broke the darkness. ?So Jack you thought you?d get away with it did you?? came a voice behind the bar. ?Get away with using marked poker cards did you?? I was still frozen. ?So, as you enjoyed my money I thought you could now enjoy my rats.? I wanted to explain but I was too crazed with terror to speak. A rat was digging its claws into my shoe. These foul creatures were everywhere. Another one jumped on my thigh and was attempting to bite through my trouser. I found my voice. ?No no I am not?? I was immediately interrupted by the hollow sound. ?You are in his chair. His winning chair.? ?I know who you are, and I know your secret.? Then the stillness returned. I looked around. There was no voice; no person and the rats were gone. The foul smell was still there so I knew I could not have imagined my ordeal. I lit my roll up and regained my normal heartbeat and sat thinking what to do next. Outside the rain had finally halted and I decided to walk home along side the canal. I realised I was still shaking. ?How real was this evening?? An evening when my only company was rats and a voice, and then they disappeared. I couldn?t go home. I needed to go back to tell myself it had not happened. After all I had only drunk the whisky. Urged on by these terrors my walk turned into a run. It has not gone ten o?clock. Inexpressibly frightened I entered the lounge bar. A hollow figure was waiting for me on the chair. ?I knew you would be back jack. This was your domain, but not anymore. They may have buried me in fifty-six but the balance of power I now own. The voice came from a misty figure. I shook, I trembled, my secret was not my own. ?Yes my dear friend Jack, or should I call you Jon? Take a deep breath, there?s no more breaths in for me. Yes you may have enjoyed spending my money when you cheated at the poker games, but I now have the power. The shockingly, horribly sudden power too find you and pay you back for your dirty tricks. I knew it was you Jack, when you had to put that old fiver back into your wallet.? Then came deathly silence, the figured drifted upwards but hovered. I was paralysed with terror. My human blood ran cold for I knew in my heart this was only the beginning. The beginning of a gruesome revenge. Or was it surreal?

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