F is for Ferry House Inn - Fiend by Natasha Duncan-Drake - Day 6 #AtoZChallenge

F is for Ferry House Inn

Sorry for this being a day late, let's just say I have not had the best weekend. Hope you are all well and welcome to my flash fiction ghost story for the letter F.

Today's story is inspired by The Ferry House Inn on the Isle of Sheppey, or at least their ghost. I don't know the layout of the inn or exactly how it operates, so most of this is purely made up, but their ghost is said to be that of a man who drowned in the estuary. Staff at the inn say they feel as if they are being watch.

This one is on the scary side, so if you don't like  a little tingle of fear, it would be a good idea to not to read.

Fiend 

by Natasha Duncan-Drake

Jackie hated closing up. Usually Clive did it, but he was on holiday, so, as stand in assistant-manager, is was her job. Once everyone was gone, the old pub plain gave Jackie the creeps.

Literally the moment she locked the door after the last punter left that feeling of being watched settled right between her shoulder blades. Her skin was tingling and all she wanted to do was shudder.

"Stop being an idiot," she told herself as she crossed to a couple of the tables to pick up empties on her way back to the bar.

All she had to do was load the dishwasher and put the night's takings into the safe for Nina to deal with in the morning. If she got a move on it wouldn't take long and then she could get the hell out of dodge.

It was uncanny, the pub was always so warm and welcoming with two or more people in it, but the moment Jackie was alone It was like walking through a mausoleum.

She worked as fast as she dared without throwing glasses all over the place behind the bar. Into the rack, out back, into the machine and repeat. Then she emptied the till, put the takings in a cloth money bag and went to the office to the safe. All the while, absolutely sure someone was watching her and following her from room to room.

When she turned most of the lights off in the downstairs it was worse.

Sometimes she hated her imagination. She was almost positive she could smell seaweed and muddy water, like the beach after a storm. It freaked her out so much she didn't even bother putting on her coat, she grabbed it, her keys and her bag and headed for the back door. She hit the button for the dishwasher on the way past and just kept on walking.

It was cold as she stepped outside, but she ignored it. The door was a big, white and wooden and she pulled it closed quickly, refusing to look up into the dark pub she had just exited. After two tries she finally managed to get the key into the lock and the old tumblers fell into place with an audible click.

Usually, the feeling of being watched stopped as soon as she hit the car park, but not tonight. As she walked towards her car it just got worse. The wind was freezing as it blew across the open land, but it wasn't the cold that made her hurry to her vehicle.

"Don't look back. Don't look back," she muttered to herself, fumbling for the button for the central locking.

Never had she regretted not spending the money to get a new fob as she desperately pressed the button that only worked about a third of the time.

"Come on," she hissed at it.

There was the crunch of footsteps on gravel. Jackie almost turned. The bleeping of her car finally opening stopped her.

"Thank Christ," she muttered and took hold of the door handle.

So close, but she never got the door open as an arm snaked round her neck, yanking her backwards in a strangle hold.

"Hello, Jackie," said an all too familiar voice.

"Dave," she choked out.

"Cry rape at me, will you, you little tart," Dave growled in her ear. "I'll show you what you're good for."

He dragged her backwards, away from the car as she clawed at his arm.

Dave was her ex, a mistake she had made for three years. He'd been abusive and controlling, but she hadn't had the guts to leave him until he'd come home drunk and forced her to have sex. She'd run to her mum's and her mum had told her it was rape and she had to report it. That had been three months ago, and the case was still pending. Dave was six foot three, over half a foot taller than she was, and built like the builder he was, Jackie didn't stand a chance. She could barely keep her feet or breathe. She tried to talk, tried to yell, but she didn't have enough air.

Then she smelt the sea again, strong and pungent, and water splashed her cheek. Dave gave a grunt and the force on her neck vanished so fast she fell over as all her support was taken away. Crawling onto her hands and knees, she dragged in lungfuls of air, coughing, but unable to stop herself. She needed to get away, to run to her car before Dave recovered, but her legs were shaking so much.

An angry snarl from behind her sent shots of adrenaline surging into her blood. She forced herself to her feet. Stumbling all the way, she ran for her car. The door bounced off it's hinges as she yanked it open and she threw herself inside, dragging it closed. Only then, with safety so close, did she realise her keys were no longer in her hand. Cold fear gripped her heart.

Wanting to cry, but forcing the tears back, she hit the central locking button on the dashboard. She was not going to let that bastard get her.

For long seconds she waited, hands white on the steering wheel. There'd be a thump, yelling, something, she knew it. It was bound to come when Dave recovered from whatever had let her get away, but it didn't.

Slowly the flight response faded, and the fear began to ebb. Maybe Dave had knocked himself out falling onto a stone or the curb? It began to dawn on her that she might still get away, but her keys were outside.

The car park was well lit, the time-switch not turning the floodlights off until an hour after closing. She'd probably be able to see them if she got out. Fear twisted in her stomach at that idea. What if Dave was just waiting for her to open the door? She knew she had to look, to make sure he was still down, but it took everything she had to do so.

What she saw made the world freeze.

Dave was lying on the gravel, unmoving, but that was not what made her stare. Dave was not alone. There was a man standing beside him. A man with grey, mottled skin, bedraggled, sopping wet clothes and seaweed in his hair. For a moment their eyes met. Cloudy, dead eyes looked back at her and then the man nodded and pointed.

Jackie followed his finger and saw her keys.

She nodded back and he began to fade away.

Jackie opened her door, ran to her keys, picked them up and ran for the pub. She glanced at Dave once and glimpsed staring eyes and chains of seaweed around his neck, but she didn't stop until she was inside with the door locked and had hold of the landline. The signal for mobiles was terrible near the pub, but the landline got her straight through to the police.

She broke down on the phone, but the nice operator talked her through everything.

The investigation into Dave's death went away surprisingly easily and Jackie went back to work. From that night onwards, Jackie never felt afraid when she sensed unseen eyes on her in the pub. In fact, she offered to do close up on more than one occasion and she researched their ghost, finding out his name so she could say good night properly. After what had happened, that tingling between her shoulder blades made her feel safer.

Dramatic Reading on Patreon

For this month I am also recording dramatic readings of all the ghost stories. These are available on my Patreon. Some are public, some are patrons only.

Fiend - read by Natasha Duncan-Drake

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Do you think ghosts ever try to help the living, do you have any personal experiences?