“I’m telling you, the second time wasn’t me!”

“Yeah, right, Matthew. You’re pathetic.”

“I’m not the only one who thinks it’s disgusting!” Matt erupted. “You shouldn’t do it in public

places!”

“Matt!” Ryan said in surprise. “Just calm down.”

“Oh my God.” Sammy glared at Matt. “I knew it. You just hate the thought of guys having sex,

don’t you? You sad, fucking homophobic wanker!”

“It’s – it’s not about that!” Matt shouted, his voice catching. “No one should be doing it in the

toilets, it’s a public place! I don’t want to go in there after anyone’s been at it. Men, women, anyone!”

“Bullshit,” Sammy said. “You’re a homophobe, and why don’t you –”

“Sammy,” Ryan warned. “That’s enough now.” He grabbed Sammy by the shoulders and pushed

him back, walking him out of the kitchen. Sammy carried on shouting over Ryan’s shoulder.

“You’re a classic closet case, Matthew. Here you go, have some gay germs!” He brought the

rumpled paper to his mouth, breathed on it, then pitched it through the air. The paper landed on the

counter top, which was already laid out with freshly washed vegetables.

With a grunt, Matt raced around the counter to retrieve the paper, then threw it in the bin. “Just get

out of my kitchen!”

Ryan pushed Sammy away before anything else happened. As the door closed behind them, Ryan

could hear Matt crashing about in anger as the stereo was cranked up high. He sighed. “Jesus, Sammy.

Why’d you have to provoke him?”

“I’ve had it with the passive aggressive crap,” Sammy said, screwing his face up in distaste. “I’m

sorry, Ryan, but from now on, it’s open season on that meat-head.”

Ryan prodded Sammy into moving down the stairs, following behind him. “You know, Sammy, the

way to avoid confrontations like this is to not use the gent’s for your...flights of fancy. I mean, can’t

you wait until you get them up to your room?”

Sammy threw Ryan a mortified look over his shoulder. “You kidding me? They’d have to be pretty

fucking special to get an invitation to my room, and trust me when I tell you there’s no one worth it in

this shithole town.”

Ryan opened his mouth to respond, then thought better of it. He knew Sammy hadn’t taken anyone

upstairs – not even his friends – since he’d been dumped by his boyfriend about three months ago.

Ryan understood Sammy was working the break up out of his system in his own unique, Sammy way.

Heaving in another deep breath, Ryan tried to think about other things. Like the cashing up, and the

beer order for next week. All stuff that needed to get done, as it hadn’t been done last night. That

would take his mind off everything. Stop him thinking about Ginger, who was upstairs, trying to deal

with his depressed cousin. Ginger was so preoccupied right now, any time Ryan spoke to him, he

could tell Ginger wasn’t really listening. Even less than usual, anyway.

When they reached the landing, Ryan told Sammy he was going to finish the cashing up. “Oh!”

Sammy remembered. “Rachel sent me up here to get you anyway. We need a barrel changing.”

“Which one?” Ryan asked.

“Can’t remember.” Sammy waved a hand, typically vague. “Guinness, or something? One of those

gross beers the old dinosaurs drink.”

The Guinness had run out? Ryan found that strange. They’d changed most of the barrels last night,

as the bar had been busy. That’s why he needed to get that order in for next week.

“Can’t you change the barrel?”

“I don’t know how,” Sammy said. “And Rachel won’t go in the cellar.”

Ryan groaned inwardly. No one wanted to go in the cellar. “Okay,” he sighed, checking his watch.

“We’ve still got an hour to open. Finish the prep, and I’ll be down in a bit.”

“Okay!” Sammy trilled, skipping away down the stairs.

* * *

No one liked the cellar, least of all Ryan. Yet, somehow, he always found himself down there

changing barrels, or fetching things that the others managed to worm their way out of fetching. He

wasn’t looking forward to going down there this morning.

After finishing the cashing up, Ryan came down to the bar with the till’s float. He caught Sammy

and Rachel, their bar maid, standing around gossiping. “Come on, guys,” Ryan urged them. “We need

to get ready.”

He didn’t like being drill sergeant. He wasn’t even very good at it, but in lieu of Pete, the manager,

and Ginger, who was assistant manager, Ryan was next in line. He only stepped in when he was

needed because he wanted to help Ginger. God knows the poor guy had enough on his plate right now.

Last Ryan had seen him, Ginger had been trying to coax Fizz out of his room. The boy barely left his

bed, as far as Ryan could make out. Ginger was getting worried, so Ryan had offered to help out when

he could. Ginger should have been on shift today, but Ryan had insisted he didn’t mind swapping

shifts.

He slammed the cash drawer into the till and exhaled quietly. “So,” he said. “Which barrel needs

changing?”

Rachel, a glamorous rockabilly girl, pointed at the Guinness tap. “It’s just not coming out.”

“Cleaned the filters?” Ryan asked, stepped over to inspect the pump.

“Yes, Ryan, I’m not thick.” Rachel said. “And by the way, I had to clean all of them. Whoever

closed up last night didn’t bother.”

“Okay, sorry,” Ryan placated her. “I’ll find out who it was, and have a word.” It felt like he spent

all his time these days calming the staff down, cooling their embers. “Do you want me to show you

how to change the barrel?”

Rachel shook her head. “I’m not going down there.”

“It’s fine,” Ryan said. Even he didn’t believe that.

“Sorry.” Rachel grabbed a cloth and a bottle of cleaning spray. “I’ll do tables. Take the twink, he

could do with building up the muscle.”

Ryan smiled, and turned to Sammy. “You heard the lady, Sammy.”

Sammy’s jaw dropped in protest. “Excuse me. Why do I have to go, when Rachel –”

Rachel threw her wet cloth on the bar with a slap, and put a hand on her hip. She gave Sammy a no

nonsense look, which quickly sent him scurrying behind the bar. Ryan smirked at Rachel, then

followed him. Sammy opened the door to the cellar, then gestured to Ryan. “After you.”

Suppressing a shudder, Ryan descended the stone steps into the curved, stone tunnel that looked

like the entrance to a dungeon. No one liked the cellar. It was always cold down here, and there were

weird noises. For years, people had said they could hear what sounded like a little girl crying.

God.

There was an air vent near the drop hatch, and the noises seemed to come from there. The only

person who didn’t seem to mind the cellar was Ginger. Though he never really paid attention to little

things, as Ryan was well aware. The pigeon loft, for instance, didn’t seem to spook Ginger at all,

whereas Ryan couldn’t stand it.

In fact, the whole building had a funny feeling about it sometimes. Like that time they’d been

sitting in the bar after closing, having a quiet drink to wind down. Everything had been locked up,

including the side door for disabled access, and the outside iron grate across it. They’d been laughing

and having a joke, until they’d heard the unmistakable sound of a rusty key being turned, and the iron

grate opening. They’d muttered amongst each other, waiting to see who it was. There were three key

holders who lived in the pub, Pete, Ginger, and Ryan. But that didn’t mean that someone from the

company or a past employee didn’t still have a key.

That was their only explanation anyway, as they’d all heard the iron grate pull shut, and the inside

door to the pub open. Heavy, clomping footsteps had walked up the stairs. The inner door to the bar