A Taste of Old Shadow

The cold white chill of winter pushed in behind me as I stepped into the hushed confines of the little pub on the lonely lane. A scattering of dimly lit figures glanced up briefly, uneasily, as I moved in silence past their tables toward the bar and the man waiting patiently to serve me.

His features were simple, ethereal; an everyman such as you would meet every day. But his eyes were kind.

“You made it then?” he said, softly.

“Yes. Yes, I did. It’s nasty out there. I saw your lights from the lane”.

“Good” he said. “What will you have?”

I glanced at the solitary pump.

“What’s the beer? Local?”

“You could say that”, he smiled. “We call it Old Shadow. A taste of that and you’re ready for anything”.

“Sounds like just what I need. Thanks”.

His eyes narrowed as he pushed the glass of dark, honeyed liquid across the bar. “You are on your own, aren’t you sir?”

“Yes, yes. It appears so”, I said as I raised the glass to my cold, cold lips. The beer was like nothing I had ever tasted; bitter yet sweet, soft yet sharp. I drank greedily, and sighed as the ale coursed down my throat and the tears stung my eyes as I remembered.

“Are you ready sir?” he asked, quietly.

“Nearly” I whispered, as I looked to the frosted window and out onto the frozen lane where my broken body lay still and unmoving beside my upturned car.