By the time I hit Kings Cross I was good and boozy.
It was Friday night and the streets were buzzing. I decided to find a decent pub and slip inside for a couple of snifters. I walked those late evening London streets, eyes peeled. Most of the pubs on the high road were filled with amateur drinkers, the usual dull Friday night crowd. I wanted to avoid those fuckers like the plague, so I walked and I walked.
At some point I turned into a dimly-lit side road. It was one of those old-fashioned London lanes, narrow and winding, cobblestones, pure Jack the Ripper territory. The street lamps looked like something left over from the Victorian era and created dancing shadows in the gloom. It was getting misty, the air damp and fetid. Up ahead I saw a soft yellow glow, enticing, inviting and there it was, the sign. The Bleeding Heart.
It was an ancient looking pub, hidden on the corner of another dark and narrow London lane. I was cheered by the sight. Just the sort of pub for a tired and weary traveller, I thought happily. Above the door way was a date, 1547.
I pushed opened the heavy wooden door of the tavern and stepped inside. The interior was almost as dark and gloomy as the streets outside, just a few red candles providing lighting. Solid oak beams lined the ceiling, an open fire blazed away, and many historical artifacts lined the plastered walls. It was a pub with character.
I strolled up to the oak-panelled bar. The barmaid was a sort, a sexy brown-haired girl, no more than twenty. As she served me a pint of wife beater I eyeballed her pert tits on the sly.
I wish I could fuck her, I thought randomly.
Partly because of the eye-candy on display I grabbed a heavy wooden barstool and plotted up at the bar. A couple of stools down from me sat the habitual barfly, a scruffy middle-aged man with a shock of black hair, black beady eyes, and a gigantic red hooter.
Ah, a fellow inebriate, a lover of that elixir of life, John Barleycorn. I checked my reflection in a stained and streaky mirror. My cheeks were rosy, like I’d been on a long walk on a bitterly cold winter’s day. My nose wasn’t red, but as the years went by little broken veins had began to appear on my cheeks. Still, it was a small price to pay for all the good, the bad and the ugly times, I reckoned.
I felt so comfortable inside the cosy environs of that ancient boozer that as soon as my first pint was finished I ordered another. As she pulled my pint the sexy barmaid smiled at me, a smile so warm and tender it made me feel good all over. Nothing better than a friendly barmaid to make you feel at home. Then, as I supped my pint, I recalled the date above the entrance, 1547. That meant drinkers had been supping ale in that very spot for over four hundred years.
I bet these walls have witnessed some goings on, I reflected boozily.
As I soaked in the atmosphere, the barfly two stools down finally made his move. I prepared myself to be bored to tears,
‘Never seen you in 'ere before,’ said the man.
Before answering I studied that fantastic conk of his so red and magnificent, a veritable W.C Fields of nozzles,
‘Nope, first time,’ I admitted freely.
The man smiled and pulled his stool closer. Then he leaned over and whispered into my ear,
‘What d’ya think of the barmaid?’
Hey, hey, the geezer must’ve read my mind. I winked and raised my eyebrows, the sort of lame shit that men do in such situations, ‘Not bad,’ I said, ‘Not bad at all.’
Red Nose looked around furtively,
‘Do you want to know a secret?’ He asked mysteriously.
Shit, I thought. Why me? Why is it I always attract this type of person, the pub fucking nutter. Still, I was curious.
‘What sort of secret?’
Again Red Nose did the furtive looking around thing, ‘A secret so powerful you’ll be able to get your end away with hers truly behind the bar there!’
What the fuck? Had Red Nose indeed lost the fricking plot?’
‘Are you on drugs?’ I queried.
‘Follow me,’ said Red Nose, beckoning me with a bony and crooked finger.
Having nothing better to do, and lagging, I followed.After getting me to order another couple of pints, he of the fantastic and red-glowing beak led me to a downstairs bar, a bar that for a Friday anyway was eerily deserted. We sat in a little oak panelled nook,
Suddenly I felt vulnerable, ‘So come on, explain yourself. And no monkey business,’ I demanded.
Red Nose took a huge slurp of his pint and then sat back,
‘All you’ve got to do is make a pact with the devil,’ he announced breezily.
This geezer was obviously do-lally, ‘Make a what with the what?’
Red Nose smiled evilly, stood up, and waved that crooked finger,
‘Follow me.’
Just like before, I followed, taking my pint with me.
Red Nose led me down into a squalid basement of the boozer. Surprisingly he had access to all areas. The basement was unlit. Red Nose lit a match and I followed its flickering light. In a far corner glowed something red and luminous,
‘Here, take a look at this,’ said Red Nose.
I rubbed my eyes and tried to discern exactly what was down there. Red Nose lit another match and all was revealed. Housed in a small wooden cage was a strange horned creature,
‘What the fuck is that?’
‘That, my friend is the devil!’
I peered closer. Shit, the creature did look like a devil, a sad and somewhat pitiful devil. When it saw me it licked its lips, flapped its tail, and spurted some fire from its nostrils. Then it flashed red, on and off. When it glowed red I could feel intense heat,
‘Mother fuck!’
Red Nose nudged me in the ribs,
‘Make a pact, make a pact,’ he demanded.
‘What sort of pact?’
‘Explain that you want to shag the barmaid upstairs.’
The situation was crazy, but it appeared I had gone past the point of no return. Oh fuck it,
‘What’s his name?’
Red Nose coughed and spluttered, ‘It’s not a he, it’s a she and her name is Lucy.’
‘Lucy, Lucy,’ I whispered, feeling like an idiot.
The creature opened its blood red eyes, produced some more smoke from its nostrils, and seemed to smile,
‘Yes,’ it wheezed.
Shit, it sure did sound like a woman, ‘I want to make a pact.’
‘Yes my child.’
‘I want to shag the barmaid.’
‘You do?’
‘I do.’
The creature did a little somersault and then its red body shook all over,
‘I can do that for you child, but afterwards you will have to dance with me.’
I took a swig from my wife beater and bobbed my neck, ‘Is that all I have to do?’
The creature shot out a fiery tongue and glowed redder than ever before,
‘That is all child.’
Fuck it, I thought, ‘Ok let’s do it.’
With that there was a blinding red flash and I felt myself start to spin. Shit, I was being sucked into some powerful supernatural centrifugal force. I closed my eyes and prayed for a safe outcome. Eventually I stopped spinning, but when I opened my eyes I found myself in a bedroom, alone.
Where the fuck am I?’ I wondered aloud.
Seconds later there was a knock on the door,
‘Can I come in?’ hissed a voice, the voice of a girl.
Surprisingly, despite the velocity of the spins, my pint remained intact. I swigged the contents down in one,
‘Yes,’ I hissed back.
Seconds later the barmaid from the Bleeding Heart walked in. She was dressed in a see-through negligee and appeared to be in a zombified state. She lay down on the bed,
‘Do whatever you want to me,’ She whispered lustily.
Holy Mother. I stared at what lay before me. What a vision, what a body, the splendid thighs, the breasts jutting out, even the hairy fanny. Put it this way I didn’t need a second invitation and embarked on some serious depravity. I licked pussy, sucked tits, reamed butt. Then I experimented with several different positions memorised from the Karma Sutra, Crushing Spices, the Tortoise, the Elephant, and last but not least the notorious Swastika.
When it was all over I lay on the bed in a dream-like state. The barmaid had a hand on my flaccid cock and nibbled away at my left nipple. Maybe we can get married in Vegas I thought, and then there was another blinding red flash.
When I came to I found myself in the yard of the Bleeding Heart with the she-devil before me,
‘Now we must dance!’ The hot bitch demanded, and spurted a line of fire directly at me. Even though taken by surprise I had the presence of mind to do a quick body swerve. The jet of flame caught me on the left shoulder. I felt a searing pain and smelled burning flesh,
The devil clapped its claw-like hands and flapped its pointed tail. Then it held back its head and let out a blood-curdling shriek,
‘I said dance fucker!’
The devil fired another jet of flame. I jumped up in the air, narrowly avoiding toasted feet.
‘You cunt,’ I said.
The devil danced and leapt into the night,
‘Dance, dance, dance, and then we shall fuck.’
Then we shall fuck? Oh my god, sex with the devil, I’ll be burned alive! I bobbed, swerved and weaved, all the while dodging those jets of steaming hot flame.
Then, just when I thought I was going to be incinerated, I remembered an old time Shaolin kung-fu move. The Crane, attack with the ferocity of a tiger and move with the grace of the crane. With jets of red-hot flame whipping all around me I manoeuvred into position.
The devil stopped spurting fire and eyeballed me in surprise,
‘What the fuck are you doing child?’
I didn’t bother answering, but instead uttered the traditional Shaolin battle-cry, ‘Ching Chang Walla...’ and executed the move perfectly, poking the devil right in the eyes.
The devil recoiled in pain, spun around several times, and then did thirty tiny somersaults in rapid succession before hitting it’s head on a wall. I stood over the limp body of the devil. She appeared to be dead, but I couldn’t be certain. Then, just as I bent down to check for a pulse, there was yet another blinding red flash.
Moments later I found myself outside The Bleeding Heart public house. Rolling around on the floor in agony was old Red Nose,
‘What did ya do that for,’ he bawled.
I tried hard to restore my equilibrium, ‘Do what?’
‘Poke me in the fucking eye!’
I started walking away fast, ‘Sorry,’ I mumbled, before spinning around and high-tailing it out of there.
(c) Joe Ridgewell 2008