The Last Pint

I never believed in ghosts. Not really. I thought they were just stories people told to make sense of loss, or fear, or the things they couldn’t explain. But after what happened at my friend’s new place, I can’t be so sure.

It had been a rough day. I’d just ended things with Marcus, and the words we’d exchanged were still ringing in my head. I needed out of my apartment, so when Jenna called and asked if I wanted to see her new townhouse, I jumped at the chance. She’d moved into a brand-new development, a row of identical units that had been built on the site of an old pub, the Wandering Gull, which had stood there for a century before burning to the ground last year. I remembered reading about it, how the fire had been ruled an accident, probably faulty wiring. No one had been hurt, but the building had been heritage-listed, and the community had lost a piece of its history.

Jenna’s place was nice, all pale wood and clean lines, with that new-house smell of sawdust and paint. The sea air drifted in through the open windows, and I could hear the distant crash of waves. We sat in her living room on the ground floor, drinking tea, trying to fill the silence with small talk. But my eyes kept drifting to the sliding glass door that led to the patio. I kept feeling like I should shut it, even though it was already closed. A chill ran down my spine, and I said, ‘Jenna, can you close the door? Please.’ She looked at me oddly. ‘The door’s closed, babe. It’s been closed.’ But I could have sworn I heard voices, faint and muffled, like people talking in another room. I strained to listen, and the sound grew clearer—not words, but a murmur of low, disjointed syllables. ‘There’s someone here,’ I insisted, but Jenna shook her head. ‘It’s just the floorboards settling. Or the neighbors. These walls are thin.’

That’s when I saw them. Two figures, not solid, but like heat haze on a hot road, standing in the corner of the room. They were featureless, just shapes of grey that seemed to move and shift. I blinked, and they were gone. I didn’t feel good or bad from them, just confusion and a weird sense of being watched. I turned to tell Jenna, but before I could speak, she let out a sharp gasp. She was staring at the center of the room, where a pulsing blue light had appeared. It was about the size of a dinner plate, and it hovered for a second before zipping straight towards us. I remember thinking ‘this can’t be real,’ but then the light hit me, and everything went blank.

The next thing I knew, I was on the bathroom floor, my cheek against the cold tile. I felt a wave of nausea so strong I thought I’d throw up. My head was pounding, and I couldn’t remember how I got there. I struggled to my feet, gripping the sink, and looked at myself in the mirror. My face was pale, and there were dark circles under my eyes. I splashed water on my face, but it didn’t help. I stumbled back into the living room, and Jenna was standing there, her skin ashen. She said, ‘We need to get out. Now.’ I didn’t argue.

We went to her car and sat there, the engine running, neither of us speaking. The sky was getting dark, and the streetlights flickered on. I finally asked, ‘What the hell was that?’ Jenna wrapped her arms around herself. ‘I don’t know. But when that blue thing came at us, I felt a rush of cold air, and I swear I heard an old man’s voice say, ‘Last call.’ I stared at her. ‘What does that mean?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. But I’m not going back there. I’m going to sell this place.’

We drove away, and I haven’t been back since. But that night, I had a dream. I was standing in the ruins of the Wandering Gull, charred timbers and soot. A man sat on a stool at a broken bar, his back to me. He had a glass in his hand, and he was humming a song I didn’t recognize. He turned his head, and his face was a melted mess of scarred skin, one eye milky white. He raised his glass as if to toast me, and I heard his voice, clear as day, say, ‘There’s always room for one more at the bar.’ I woke up screaming, and I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that when that blue light touched me, I brought something back with me. Something old. Something thirsty. And now, every time I hear the clink of glasses or the murmur of a crowd, I think of that pub, and I wonder if maybe the fire didn’t take everything after all. Maybe the Wandering Gull is still serving, and I just had my first pint. And I’m afraid I’ll be drinking there for a long, long time.