Under a Ghostly Moon (Jerry Moon Supernatural Thrillers Book 1) by William Moore, Beverley Moore Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: William Moore, Beverley Moore
presence.
He leaned on the fence gazing into the dappled twili ght over the graves and munched on his roll. This was what he needed; this place of death but so full of life recharged his soul and healed it from the bruises left by city living. "Thank you," he whispered to the place in general as he finished his meal, throwing out a few last crumbs for the squirrels. He rolled up his paper bag into a ball and tossed it into a convenient wastebasket as he headed back out of the past and into the noise and fumes of the present. I really must try to come here more often . He chided himself, hoping that his busy schedule would allow him to do so.
Moon meandered back through town, browsing in shops along the way and finally arrived at the Hangman's Rest just in time to catch the kitchen open. He ordered a meal with his first pint and sat near the window, watching passers-by as he waited for his order. The Rest was fairly empty except for a few professional bar-proppers, who had probably been there since lunchtime, and a young couple who looked like they had wandered in at random in search of a meal. The bar throbbed with Death Metal music, which must have been the choice of the skinny Goth lad behind the bar, while muted heavy rock videos from MTV played on a large TV screen on a wall of the main bar and several smaller screens around the pub. Moon wondered why anyone in his or her right mind would like Death Metal; he supposed that there might be some comfort in knowing that once you finished listening to it life was unlikely to get worse.
When his chili con carne arrived, he found it was surprisingly good for pub fare and he dug in happily, as he watched the early evening crowd arrive . He recognised a few faces from the night before, most of them appearing a little less spectacular and a lot more human. The men wore little or no make-up and the girls were wearing dowdier less constricting clothing; this was obviously 'off-duty' Goth, not party Goth. Moon made a mental note to mention this compromise with the 'mundane' world in his article.
His meal finished, he wandered up to the bar for a refill . The barman was serving one of the bar-proppers and as Moon waited his turn several young Goths came through the door and approached the bar. To Moon's surprise the barman finished serving the first customer then ignored him studiously and started chatting to and serving the newcomers. He was wondering whether he ought to complain when a cheery female voice said from behind his end of the bar, "Can I help you?"
" A baseball bat would come in very handy right now," Moon replied angrily, nodding towards the gaggle at the end of the bar, "but failing that I'd like a pint of Ostrich if that's not too much trouble."
The voice 's owner, a diminutive thirty-something woman with short cropped almost white platinum blonde hair, frowned slightly for an instant, then a look of comprehension dawned on her face and she said: "Oh? Has been Moz being an arsehole again? Hey, Moz, I pay you to serve customers not to cozy up with that band of rejects! First come, first served, remember that?"
Moz looked away from his conversation with a skinny girl with pink and blue dreadlocks and replied, "Okay, sorry, Kate."
" Just remember, I've told you twice already, you're here to work not hang out with your mates. One more time and you're out on your ear." She turned back to Moon. "Sorry, we employ our staff mainly from the clientele and sometimes they forget which side of the bar they're on. Ostrich was it?"
" Yeah, look, are you the boss here?" Moon surveyed Kate's outfit: high-heeled black calf boots, black jeans and a studded black leather vest. The latter partly revealed Celtic tattoos on both shoulders which flowed into twin dragons on her shoulder blades, at the back, and at the front an impressive cleavage and a physique which hinted at many hours spent in the gym. She didn't look very much like a
He leaned on the fence gazing into the dappled twili ght over the graves and munched on his roll. This was what he needed; this place of death but so full of life recharged his soul and healed it from the bruises left by city living. "Thank you," he whispered to the place in general as he finished his meal, throwing out a few last crumbs for the squirrels. He rolled up his paper bag into a ball and tossed it into a convenient wastebasket as he headed back out of the past and into the noise and fumes of the present. I really must try to come here more often . He chided himself, hoping that his busy schedule would allow him to do so.
Moon meandered back through town, browsing in shops along the way and finally arrived at the Hangman's Rest just in time to catch the kitchen open. He ordered a meal with his first pint and sat near the window, watching passers-by as he waited for his order. The Rest was fairly empty except for a few professional bar-proppers, who had probably been there since lunchtime, and a young couple who looked like they had wandered in at random in search of a meal. The bar throbbed with Death Metal music, which must have been the choice of the skinny Goth lad behind the bar, while muted heavy rock videos from MTV played on a large TV screen on a wall of the main bar and several smaller screens around the pub. Moon wondered why anyone in his or her right mind would like Death Metal; he supposed that there might be some comfort in knowing that once you finished listening to it life was unlikely to get worse.
When his chili con carne arrived, he found it was surprisingly good for pub fare and he dug in happily, as he watched the early evening crowd arrive . He recognised a few faces from the night before, most of them appearing a little less spectacular and a lot more human. The men wore little or no make-up and the girls were wearing dowdier less constricting clothing; this was obviously 'off-duty' Goth, not party Goth. Moon made a mental note to mention this compromise with the 'mundane' world in his article.
His meal finished, he wandered up to the bar for a refill . The barman was serving one of the bar-proppers and as Moon waited his turn several young Goths came through the door and approached the bar. To Moon's surprise the barman finished serving the first customer then ignored him studiously and started chatting to and serving the newcomers. He was wondering whether he ought to complain when a cheery female voice said from behind his end of the bar, "Can I help you?"
" A baseball bat would come in very handy right now," Moon replied angrily, nodding towards the gaggle at the end of the bar, "but failing that I'd like a pint of Ostrich if that's not too much trouble."
The voice 's owner, a diminutive thirty-something woman with short cropped almost white platinum blonde hair, frowned slightly for an instant, then a look of comprehension dawned on her face and she said: "Oh? Has been Moz being an arsehole again? Hey, Moz, I pay you to serve customers not to cozy up with that band of rejects! First come, first served, remember that?"
Moz looked away from his conversation with a skinny girl with pink and blue dreadlocks and replied, "Okay, sorry, Kate."
" Just remember, I've told you twice already, you're here to work not hang out with your mates. One more time and you're out on your ear." She turned back to Moon. "Sorry, we employ our staff mainly from the clientele and sometimes they forget which side of the bar they're on. Ostrich was it?"
" Yeah, look, are you the boss here?" Moon surveyed Kate's outfit: high-heeled black calf boots, black jeans and a studded black leather vest. The latter partly revealed Celtic tattoos on both shoulders which flowed into twin dragons on her shoulder blades, at the back, and at the front an impressive cleavage and a physique which hinted at many hours spent in the gym. She didn't look very much like a
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