A Night at the Black Fleece

The challenge was simple, spend one night in room ten of The Black Fleece Inn and £20,000 would be yours. The only problem was, despite many attempts, no one had ever stood up to the challenge. Perhaps it had something to do with the Fleece being the most haunted building in the small town of Ravensfield.

The competition had been running for over twenty years, making it something of a tourist attraction. The Black Fleece had seen its fair share of adventures and daredevils stake claim to the prize. And they had all been seen fleeing in terror during the night.

It was the nights when a new contender stepped into the ring that were the busiest for the old tavern. The local paper would print the name of each would-be challenger, and the pub would become packed to the rafters. A number of para-psychologists and would-be ghostbusters even attempted to spend the night, conducting scientific research on the reported phenomenon that took place there, but all efforts were in vain. Slim, on the other hand, was different. Slim was desperate.

Jim “Slim” Williams, had racked up several hefty debts with local book keepers and was now overdue on his promise to Ravenfields’s most notorious loan shark. To make things worse, he had been out of work for several months, selling everything he had ever owned to keep afloat, including his most precious of commodities. But, even the money from that sale did not last long with his affinity for the racehorses. The prospect of winning £20,000 might just resolve matters.

Slim had lived in Ravenfield most of his life and had heard many a strange tale of the on goings which occurred in the town - especially the stories of The Black Fleece Inn. Even he once had an encounter himself with something unexplained. But right now, his only interest was money. These days, money was hard to come by and even harder for Slim to keep.

Slim, as his friends had nick named him due to his slight frame and an ability to slip out of any hopeless situation, swaggered into The Black Fleece. The bar was over crowded even more so on this particular night, with punters who had come to see if the local boy would be the first person to complete the challenge. Their eyes followed him as he walked towards the bar. Slim propped himself against the counter as the landlord approached. “So, you think you can spend the night here then, young man?” asked the landlord, scratching his round belly.

Slim replied with a nod and then asked, “Is it true no one has ever spent the night here?”

“Aye,” croaked the landlord. “Well, no one has ever spent the night and lived to tell the tale.”

Slim’s eyes widened.

“One man stayed here a few years back,” the landlord explained. “He’d not checked-out, so I assumed we finally had a winner. When I went to give him the prize money in the morning, I found him dead.”

The landlord leaned in closer. “They say the man died of heart failure, but if you asked me, from the look on his lifeless face, he had died of sheer fright.”

Slim, of course, already knew this. The previous week he had read up his predecessors’ failed attempts in a hope of preparing himself for what might come. He certainly wasn’t going to head into this blindfolded or without an ace up his sleeve. However, he decided to humour the landlord.

“Really?” Slim asked, trying to keep a straight face.

“Aye. The look in his eyes didn’t just say he had lost his life, but also his soul.”

“So, what’s the story with this place then?” Slim enquired, pretending to probe further.

“They say that a phantom nun haunts this place. She was burnt at the stake shortly after giving birth, or so the legend goes, for breaking her vow of celibacy and her refusal to name the father. Her remains were then bricked up in the walls of room ten.”

“What happened to the baby?”

“The wee thing was bricked up in the walls with its mother. Only the baby was alive when they laid the bricks and motor.” The landlord shrugged, “Now, how about a drink?”

Slim had a few beers with the curious customers and even gave a short interview to a reporter who was covering the story for the local paper, but as per the rules of the competition, as soon as the landlord called last orders he had to retired to the room.

The room itself was very basic and there didn’t seem to be anything particularly creepy or unusual about it. The only thing remotely scary was the 1980s décor and the pungent smell of damp.

Slim filled up the sink which faced the bed and began to wash his face, running his fingers over his stubbly cheeks. He reached for a towel and began to dry while he stared into the mirror. As he ran the towel over his face, the reflection of a shadow darted across the room. He spun round, but there was nothing there. “Must be the light,” he sighed shaking his head as he began to strip down to his boxer-shorts and then proceeded to climb into the bed.

Slim had been asleep for about an hour or so when a wailing sound woke him. The wind, he thought, but the trees outside were still. Slim then sat upright, trying to figure out what the noise was and where it was coming from. The sound appeared to be coming from the room next door, but the landlord hadn’t said anything about other guests staying in the inn that night.

Slim pushed his ear against the wall just above the headrest and began to listen to what sounded like the shriek of a crying baby. For a moment, Slim thought of the nun and her child, but pushed the thought from his mind. He banged his fist against the wall. “Hey! People are trying to sleep in here!” If he could rationalise it, find an explanation for it, then it wouldn’t scare him. “It has to be another guest”, he told himself, his heart rate now increasing. The crying continued, becoming louder and sharper. “For God’s sake,” he muttered under his breath. Then he had an idea; his MP3 player. The music might drown out the crying and help him drift back to sleep. If he couldn’t hear it, it wasn’t happening. The quicker the hours passed, the sooner he could buy his freedom.

Slim got out of bed, flicked the light switch on and went to take the music device from his jacket pocket. He then made his way back to the bed and as he did he caught, in the corner of his eye, another shadow race across the room. The moment he looked over his shoulder the crying stopped and was replaced by an eerie silence. In some way the silence seemed louder than the crying. His ears began to ring, the tone becoming sharper, until pop!

Another shadow darted across the opposite wall. His first thought was it’s just the lights again, but then a shadow disappeared and then reappeared in the far corner of the room, just above the door. Slim turned his head, but before he had the chance to turn the rest of his body he could feel something breeze past him, sending a chill down his spine. His head turned back sharply to face the bed again, but whatever it had been, it was gone.

Slim switched off the lights, but just as he was climbing back into bed the crying started again. It was a lot louder this time and in a higher, ear-bleeding pitch.

Pushing the earphones into his ears, he cranked up the volume, blocking out the wailing. As he lay there, there appeared to be a silhouette on the wall opposite, which took the form of a hooded figure. The figure stood still and although it had no face it appeared to stare directly into Slim’s eyes. Slim tried to stare back, but his eyelids grew heavy and he drifted off to sleep.

A few hours later Slim woke up from the shock of a nightmare, the memory of which swiftly escaped him. He tried to shuffle his position but he couldn’t move his legs. Something was pressing down on them just below the knee. He began to reach out for the bedside lamp and as he stretched out, the weight on his legs shifted slightly; someone was sitting on them. Slim stared at the foot of the bed, but there was no one there. He tried to lift his legs, but the weight kept them down. Then slowly, the image of a woman began to materialise. Once the image of the woman was complete it was clear she was sitting on Slim’s legs.

Slim squinted in the dark trying to get a better look at the woman. She appeared to be dressed in a nun’s habit. The nun began to crawl across the bed, pulling the cover back as she came face to face with Slim. She placed cold kisses on his lips, and then slowly moved her way down; icy caresses on his neck then chest. Slim reached out for the lamp once more and lifted it over the bed. Switching the lamp on revealed that the nun was now completely nude, the light glistening from her long blonde hair. Slim shone the lamp directly in the nun to get a better look at her. When the light hit her face she screamed in pain. Even though it was artificial, the light burnt the nun’s skin. Blisters formed on her cheeks and forehead, which slowly began to weep, whilst her lips became cracked and started to bleed. Slim quickly moved the lamp away, but it was too late. Over every inch of the nun’s body her flesh began to decompose. The smell of burnt meat filled the room, as flames erupted from her skin. Slim could feel the heat burn his own skin and he could taste smoke as it clogged his lungs. Blackened muscle and sinew began to fall away from the nun’s bones revealing a charcoal skeleton, which exploded into a cloud of ash.

The heat, the smells and the taste of smoke were now gone. Slim’s heart was racing as he flopped back on to the mattress, his eyes closed as he caught his breath. Once his breathing returned to normal, he opened his eyes – the nun was gone. No blood, no entrails, no fragments of bone. It was almost like she had never existed. And then, the silhouette on the far wall caught Slim’s eye once more.

It appeared to be moving. For a moment it juddered from side to side, and then broke free from the wall, floating across the room. The hooded figure, now levitated over the bed, reached out a bony finger and pointed to Slim. “Leave,” said a deep raspy voice, but the sound did not appear to come from the phantom, instead it was echoing inside Slim’s head. “Leave now!” said the voice.

“No chance,” argued Slim.

“Leave now, or sacrifice your soul.”

“I’m not leaving. I need this.” Slim sat up right trying to stare into the face of the spirit. Underneath the hood, initially, there was nothing but a pitch-black void, but soon a face began to appear. It was a face Slim knew well, a face he had seen only several hours ago. The face he saw each time he looked in a mirror.

“Leave!” demanded the voice.

The face under the hood, Slim’s reflection, began to grow thin and pale, starved and malnourished. The face began to age rapidly. Wrinkles and crow’s-feet appeared, the hair turned from sandy blond to grey, then white. As the colour of the hair changed it also began to grown in length.

Slim saw what he would look like at forty, then fifty, then sixty. The hair began to fall away in clumps from the scalp, revealing large liver spots.

...Then aged seventy, aged eighty.

The Old Slim’s gums began to bleed, teeth yellowed, then blackened, dropping from the mouth one by one.

Slim still protested, as the face now began to decompose. The skin split on the cheeks; maggots wriggled from the wounds and began feasting on the flesh.

Slim closed his eyes and gripped the sheets tightly, fighting the urge to leap from the bed and run out of the door.

“No!” he shouted, shaking his head. “No! No! No!”

“So be it,” said the voice. “You’re soul is mine!”

The hooded figure placed its ice-cold hand on Slim’s chest, just over his heart. Its fingers buried into Slim’s skin. Blood slowly seeped from the wounds and trickled down his chest. Slim shuddered at first and then shivered as the cold became more intense. His teeth began to chatter and his skin and lips turned blue. When he lost consciousness an icy vapour escaped from his lips. His eyes rolled back and he collapsed onto the bed, his head hitting the pillow. The spirit now appeared to be searching for something deep inside Slim, but whatever it was looking for could not be found.

The spirit let out a screeching howl. A pitch so sharp it caused the windows and the mirror to shatter simultaneously. Shards of glass rained down on the carpet.

The creature retreated back into the shadows with a sense of defeat.

The following morning Slim jogged down the stairs into the bar area. The landlord was busy cleaning glasses behind the counter, “I was just about to come and see if you were still alive,” he chuckled.

Slim paid no attention to the comment and just asked for his money. From under the counter the landlord pulled out a blank cheque and began to write it up.

“When you didn’t come running out screaming in the middle of the night, I thought you must be dead. I thought they had taken your soul for sure,” laughed the landlord as he reluctantly handed over the cheque.

“Oh they would have,” said Slim, as he took his prize, “if I hadn’t already sold it.”