The Ghosts of Sleath by James Herbert Read Free Book Online

suggesting she had not slept too well lately.
    He gave a nod of his head and quickly examined the range of brand bitters on the brass pumps. He pointed at what he assumed to be the local brew. ‘Just half,’ he said.
    The girl reached for a handled glass and drew back the pump. ‘Nice day now,’ she said conversationally as she pulled the beer.
    Ash complied with the ritual. ‘Another hot one, I think.’ He looked around the room again and saw that the man at the round table had lowered his newspaper and was watching him over his reading glasses. When their gazes locked the man flicked his paper and raised it again. The two men felt no such embarrassment: they continued to watch him.
    Ash smiled to himself and turned back to the bar.
    ‘That’ll be -’ the girl was saying as she placed the half-pint on the bar mat in front of him.
    ‘And a vodka,’ he interrupted. ‘Neat. No ice.’
    She regarded him with mild surprise before turning to the optics. ‘No tonic?’ she reaffirmed, her back to him.
    ‘No thanks.’ He lifted the bitter and took a long swallow. It was cold, tangy, a good brew. Reaching for his wallet he asked: ‘D’you have rooms here?’
    She returned with the vodka. ‘For accommodation, you mean?’ She gave a little laugh, realizing the inanity of her response. ‘Yes, we do, but you need to talk to Mr Ginty, the landlord. I’ll get him for you, if you like.’
    He handed over a five-pound note for the drinks. ‘Yeah, if you could.’
    She gave him change, told him she wouldn’t be a moment, and disappeared through a door at the far end of the bar.
    Ash sipped at the vodka, taking it steady: it wouldn’t do much for the Institute’s image if their investigator was under the influence for the first meeting with a client. Still, the incident with the ‘boy-who-wasn’t-there’ demanded at least one more stiff drink, and this was only a single. The bitter didn’t count.
    Still he felt eyes on him and he glanced to the left to see the youth in denims studying him from the other bar. Ash mentally shook his head, feeling like the proverbial ‘stranger in town’. Did all outsiders receive this kind of attention, or had word got around that a psychic investigator - a ghost hunter - would be visiting the village today? But then the person who had contacted the Psychical Research Institute had insisted that the whole matter be treated as confidential, so it was highly unlikely that the client would have blabbed. If odd things were happening in Sleath, though, the residents might be inclined to be suspicious of anyone or anything new. Especially if the ‘anyone’ was enquiring about rooms for the night.
    ‘Mr Ginty will be down in a minute.’ The barmaid had returned and was smiling across the counter at him. She had nice even teeth, he noticed, and her long pale blue skirt and mauve half-sleeved blouse tucked into a belt at her waist complimented her slim figure. She wore very little make-up and her voice, with its soft local burr and slightly broadened vowels, was as pleasant as her manner. She seemed more like a trainee teacher than a barmaid, but maybe this was the standard in this part of the country.
    ‘Are you on holiday?’ she asked as she reached for a cloth and resumed wiping glasses.
    Before he could reply a group of men entered the inn, their voices raised enough for customers in both bars to look in their direction. They went through to the other room and appeared again next to the young man who had been drinking alone. One of them slapped him on the shoulder, then ruffled his red curly hair.
    ‘Suppin a bit early in the day, aren’t yer, Danno?’
    The youth scowled back at him. ‘Some of us have done a half-day’s grind already.’
    ‘Listen to it,’ the other man said, looking around at his companions. They laughed and he leaned hard against the youth’s shoulder to say in a mock-low voice: ‘Sometimes the best work gits done at night, boy.’ He joined in his