Horror Stories from Horrified - Volume One (2)

they star ted to thaw fr om the inside out. She took off her gloves and pr essed the ice of her
hands against her face. She gr imaced? a stuffed bir d of pr ey stood on a shelf next to some
old ir on tr aps, black-toothed and savage. A fox?s head gr inned fr om its mount among
displays of dull, yellow ed antler s of var ying sizes that w er e gather ing dust on the walls. She
shiver ed.
?That?s hor r ible,? she said. ?All these dead things!?
?Hmmm?? Simon asked. He was still looking intently behind the bar for signs of life. He
wanted to or der a dr ink and book a r oom and go to bed and he wanted them all, now. He
looked at w hat had upset her : the moth-eaten, dead buzzar d, the glassy-eyed fox head, and
the black ir on tr aps, un-spr ung now but still dr ipping w ith intent. ?Well, that was all par t of
the ghillies?job? pest contr ol. They managed the land for the stalking. This must be an old
hunting lodge. I w onder if ther e?s anything still in that gun cabinet.?
Beth star ed at the long, thin, padlocked cabinet that stood near the bar. ?Well, it?s
hor r ible,? she said, ?This place is hor r ible.? She walked over to some old faded photogr aphs
that hung on the wall, their sepia tones w r eathed w ith w hite vignettes. A gr oup of men
stood looking unsmiling into the camer a, dr essed in tw eeds and heavy black boots.
Un-cocked r ifles r ested in the cr ooks of their ar ms and they held long, ominous knives in
their hands. In one photogr aph a man held up a deer ?s head by its antler s for the camer a as
it lay conquer ed and dead on the gr ound. These, she assumed, w er e Simon?s ?ghillies?.
?I?m going to find them,? Simon said suddenly. ?We can?t wait her e all night. I?m going to
find someone. Hello!? He slipped behind the bar and disappear ed thr ough a door that
sw ung on its hinges long after he had gone.
It was the silence that hit Beth, then. The silence, and the smell of old tobacco and the
gr im, yellow ceiling that seemed to get low er ever y time she looked at it. Nothing moved.
Nothing stir r ed? just the occasional cr ackle of the dying fir e and the solemn ticking of an
old gr andfather clock that stood in one of the cor ner s of the bar. She was getting cold, now
that the exer tions of pushing the car and tr udging thr ough snow w er e over. The comfor t of
the bar r oom sanctuar y was star ting to wane. It wasn?t ver y war m in her e at all; w ould
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