Inn at the End of the World

There was an inn near the end of the world. A dusty tavern filled with the odd types that accumulated at the edges as the borders of the earth disappeared into fog. No one who went into that fog ever came out but that didn't stop people from trying.

Night after night, the inn would serve travelers their last shots of courage. Sometimes it wasn't enough and they would drift home the following morning- heads pounding but not enough to distract from their wounded pride. More often than not, however, those who made it to the tavern would rise at dawn, pack a light lunch they hoped they would be alive to consume later, and set off from the front door and down the well-trodden footpath to be swallowed up by the sun-tipped fog.

The innkeeper had worked at the tavern for as long as she could remember and she wore the years heavily upon her face. Deep lines framed her rare smile and her forehead was constantly marked by a shifting network of wrinkles. She often thought of leaving; of hopping on the back of one of the inn's delivery trucks and riding it deep into some city. But then- she would think- who would serve these doomed travelers their final meal, who would be there to listen to their final stories, the final thoughts they spoke aloud to the world that had raised them.

In the early days, she tried to convince them to turn back. She would tell them it was hopeless, she would recite statistics, she would plead with them. But, as the years wore on, she realized that whether they continued on their journey or turned back towards the cities, the result was always the same- they would leave her.

One day, just as the midmorning light cast long shadows through the windows, the tinkle of a small silver bell above the door-frame announced a visitor. Alerted by the sound, the bartender looked up briefly to see a tall thin man with a kind face surrounded by a cloud of white hair.

"What can I get for you?" the innkeeper said from her place behind the bar. She barely looked up as she polished the long wooden counter.

"Oh nothing for me thank you." Came the man's smooth reply. " I was actually wondering if you would like to stock up on any limes". After a brief yet awkward pause the man continued. "I'm a lime salesman you see and this year the farm I sell for had quite a crop. I've been having trouble unloading the surplus in the cities- no one is buying." Again he paused- waiting for an encouraging smile or some small sound of empathy. The innkeeper gave him neither and he began to feel a bit deflated " I thought since this bar gets a bit of traffic--you might need--" He let the sentence hang there, gathering dust in the light-filled room.

The innkeeper felt a small flare of sympathy which she promptly quenched as she flicked her polishing rag into the wash bucket at her feet. "I am not in need of any limes." She said with an air of finality.

The man's shoulders sagged readily in the face of this defeat and suddenly he seemed more skeletal than slender. The innkeeper's pity got the better of her. "I don't need limes because I have no knives with which to cut them." She said by way of explanation. "They were all stolen by customers. I guess at some point I just stopped bothering to re-stock them"

"Stolen?" Said the man with concern. "That's awful."

"Desperate people do desperate things" Replied the innkeeper. "They know their journey is hopeless and many take some comfort in carrying a weapon with them. It gives them the illusion that they have some control over their fate - even if they are only carrying a steak knife."

"I suppose I can understand where they are coming from." said the man with a sigh. "I might have a knife on me- if I offered to stay and cut them, would you buy some limes?"

The innkeeper's face almost shifted into a smile but she caught herself and the expression she wore made her look even more stern. "I suppose I could use some help behind the bar." She said.

The man eagerly rummaged through a large black bag he had slung over one shoulder and pulled out a small wooden handled jackknife with a dove carved into the hilt. This embellishment seemed to glow in the early afternoon light and the innkeeper's eyes widened ever so slightly when she saw it. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen a bird. They had all been declared extinct a century ago and, maybe because the memory was too painful, artists had stopped including their images in what they created. It was as if the whole world had forgotten about this mass extinction event and only those lonely few who spent their lives pouring over old books knew that these creatures had once existed.

The innkeeper made a small space at the bar for the man and they shared a comfortable silence as they worked together into the early evening- when he ran out of limes to cut he had moved on to thinly slicing whatever other produce was in the kitchen.

It was the busiest night the inn had seen in a long time and the evening's customers were enthusiastic about the limes- ordering imported brews and making explicit requests for the zesty green finish. The next day's voyagers talked late into the night and, by the time the innkeeper and the salesman were wiping down the last of the dirty tables, the sun was beginning to peek through the windows framing the door. As the inn was never at capacity, the innkeeper offered an empty room to the salesman. He accepted gratefully for he had just begun to feel a great weariness settle into his bones.

As dawn evaporated and a heavy heat drew long shadows out of the afternoon, the innkeeper drifted off to sleep facing the door. Through her dreams flew a small flock of doves. Still asleep, she smiled and turned to face the wall. She woke up with a small smile still on her face but for the life of her she couldn't remember what had provoked that residual glow of joy.

The salesman stayed to work the next day. And the day after that. Once he ran out of produce to cut he began whittling small figures out of discarded pieces of wood and placing them around the inn. These creations were often animals, long extinct and almost forgotten. His work was so effortless that he seemed to merely be uncovering the creatures- freeing them from a prison of wooden shavings. The innkeeper's favorite was a small fox carved from a broken chair-leg. The salesman had placed it on the windowsill to the right of the door- a location best viewed from the bar. The fox was in mid-chase, pursuing some invisible prey and the motion of its fur was so convincing that the innkeeper would often catch herself staring at it as if daring it to move.

When the salesman ran out of broken chairs and discarded wooden spoons, he and the innkeeper began taking long walks around the Inn's property scouting for small sticks.

On a particularly clear day, the fog seemed to loosen its hold on the inn and it receded by several feet. The innkeeper and the salesman grabbed small bags and set off to gather any wood the fog had released from its grip. As they approached the wall of cloud, the salesman shouted in excitement and gestured frantically into the fog.

"Look! It's a tree!"

"I can't see a thing." said the innkeeper squinting into the wall of gloom.

"Over there, in the fog! Think about what I could make with that tree!" The salesman was pointing now and grinning excitedly.

The innkeeper followed the direction of his narrow pointer finger and found herself focused upon a spec on the horizon, deep in the heart of the fog.

"We can't go out there! We would never make it back." She said sadly.

"We wouldn't get lost! I promise. I'll make marks on the ground with my feet. Like this " Said the salesman as he dragged his left toes along the ground making a long thin line in the dirt. "Then we would just need to follow it back"

The innkeeper looked at his hopeful face and suddenly felt that against all her better instincts, she could not disappoint this man in front of her. Mouth set in a grim line she nodded and together they set off towards the distant black shape on the horizon.

There was no precise moment in which they knew they had entered the fog-just a gradual chill as small drops of water landed on their arms and nestled into their hair. Though the innkeeper set a brisk pace, the dark spot in the distance did not seem to grow any larger. The innkeeper was suddenly seized with panic and turned around to face the salesman diligently making marks in the sandy ground with his feet. In the distance she could see rays of sunshine illuminating the only home she had ever known- she felt her panic ease slightly. She set off at an even faster pace, almost running towards the darkness that vanished into the horizon.

As they carried on through the damp and the chill, the panic faded to a dull anxiety at the pit of her stomach. Time seemed to lose its meaning. With every step she grew less certain if they had been walking for minutes or for days. The fog warped the sunlight around them. She thought she heard a sound to her left- simultaneously out of place but entirely familiar. A sound like clean sheets being snapped briskly open over an awaiting mattress. She whirled around to catch a small shadow fluttering through the fog. An instant later it was gone and she wondered if she had seen it at all.

"What was that?" She asked, her voice muted by the dampness around her.

"What was what?" Replied the salesman looking up from the sandy earth.

"I thought I saw a..." She trailed off not wanting to reveal what she thought she had seen for it now seemed entirely ridiculous.

Finally the shape in the distance began to grow. From a spec on the horizon it morphed into a low flat rectangle. As they continued walking it sprouted windows and a squat little chimney. The innkeeper felt a sinking feeling deep within her core.

"I'm so sorry" she called behind her.

"What for?" replied the salesman.

"We must have gotten turned around. I would know that building up ahead anywhere. It's my inn."

"That's not possible" replied the salesman and as he and the innkeeper turned to see a long straight line in the dirt extending as far as her eye could see in the opposite direction.

The innkeeper approached him and reached out her hand. She couldn't explain how it had happened but somehow they must have reversed course in all the gloom.

"Come, let's go home" she said.

The salesman looked with dismay at the trail behind him and then took her hand as she led them both towards the inn.

The fog loosened its hold on them and sunlight once again reached down to warm their bodies. They approached the building from the front, walking up the well-worn footpath that seemed suddenly foreign to the innkeeper. She couldn't see any movement from the windows on the upper levels of the inn and she briefly wondered where all her customers had gone. She approached the wooden doors that led to the bar and peered into the window to the right. There was a sudden flash of red through the glass and for just a moment she found herself looking deep into the auburn eyes of a small fox. It instantly darted from the windowsill and retreated into the shadows within the building.

A cry of surprise caught inside her throat and although she tried to say something she found herself unable to make any sound at all. Realizing she was still holding the salesman's hand, she clenched it tighter. Together they pushed open the creaking wooden doors and to the tinkle of a little golden bell they entered the inn near the end of the world.