The Sinking Inn

 

I can only suppose that in the brief  intervals between my constant dreaming  at night, any stories that came to mind would be extensions of my dream-state and perhaps that the stories thus engendered would be unintentionally metaphoric in nature. So, reader, you can make what you will of the following tale that occurred to me some time ago after having dreamt of a large, black bear outside my window and of my father’s voice reaching to me from the grave by telephone. Hence this gothic tale  of resignation written after receiving a cancer diagnosis. (Speaking of Light & Dark, the diagnosis being the dark, the fact that I am now in remission, the light. A.T.)

 

 

It was a cold night, and I was traveling, by horseback, from the western seaport of Gimroy, up the coastal road and heading to Trethmondy for business there. I had disembarked from the HMS Rudyar that very afternoon and upon being notified by messenger of a certain lady’s request that I journey to that northern city, I secured a horse at the local livery and without further stopping headed forth on my journey.

Now the road to Trethmondy, although beautiful enough on a calm, sunny day, by night and in this early winter season could be, by most reports, treacherous. But I had been assured by the ship’s purser that if I remained vigilant, that the road would prove worthy. Apparently, it followed the coast, a good deal of which was cliff-face and a traveller was bordered on one side by the cliffs themselves and on the other by thick tangles of brush and thicket. The road continued like this for almost the entire length of it, except for a small section of a mile or so that ventured inland for some three or four hundred yards.

I had been riding now for about four hours and was sore and uncomfortable. My steed, purchased from a rough looking man at the livery whom I perceived was something less than trustworthy, had developed a slight limp and I suspected that he was beginning to lose a shoe on his right hoof. He was a sturdy enough beast though and responded well to the rein and I had no quarrel with him per se, but the going was getting increasingly difficult, and we sauntered along at a dull pace and I began to suspect that it would be only a matter of time before he lost the shoe altogether and I would be forced to dismount and walk him.

I now realized that I had been far too ambitious in setting out when I did and that I should have waited until the following day which had promised to be somewhat warmer. My spirits were low now and it was with glum resignation that we plodded forward.

When we reached the section of the road that I mentioned before and that the locals thereabout had named Himmond’s Leg, after a man that had fallen to his death through having missed the turn, it is said, we headed eastward along the narrower but well-worn trail. I rode along this way, slumped in my saddle and shivering against the wind, for about a half an hour when I arrived at a fork in the road. Nobody had mentioned a fork to me, and I had been led to believe that the road stretched, unbroken, its length to Trethmondy. However, here it was.

One side of the fork I judged, because of its proximity to the sea, was probably the one that led to the city. But perhaps not. As I looked about me, I happened to spy a small wooden sign that indicated that the fork to the right led to a town named Grommond. I had never heard of this place but the thought of somewhere warm to stop and wait for the dawn would perhaps be welcome. My horse beneath me shuffled nervously and started to head down the other, left-hand fork.

Well, I thought, it would seem that the decision has been made for me and perhaps I would make the greater city by dawn after all. Besides which, there was no knowing how far Grommond was up the other way. This line of thought came to naught, however, as some fifty feet further along the coastal road I encountered a blockade in the form of a huge tree that had fallen in the wind and now lay across the way, its trunk barring two thirds of the road and its massive canopy, a tangle of branches and twigs, covering the remaining third.

Now, it seemed, my options had been reduced to three. I could attempt to cut through the stiff branches with the small axe I was carrying, or I could take what blankets I had, start a small fire and attempt to sleep out the night. My third option, and the one upon which I quickly came to believe the best, was to return to the fork and attempt to make the town of Grommond for the night, rest in warmth and comfort and then return to the road the next day with a forester or two in tow to help me clear the way.

I returned to the fork and started along the right hand way, but the horse was reluctant and reared slightly despite his worn-out state. I wrestled with the bridle and after a bit he reluctantly lowered his head and slowly made his way up the slight slope.

Not long thereafter I stood atop a rise looking down into a shallow valley and the rooftops of a small town of some forty or fifty houses. It was mostly dark there, but one or two lights could be seen even from this distance of about a mile. A town of this size must have at least one inn or tavern, I reckoned and with renewed vigour I headed the horse there. He must have sensed an end to this tedious journey, for he now strode forward with energy and purpose and within twenty minutes we were at the edge of town.

Despite its small size, the central street through the town had been cobblestoned and as we made our way along it, the clip clop of my ride’s hooves was the only sound to break the silence of the sleeping village. I began to feel that perhaps there was, indeed, no lodging at all to be had here as I had now traversed three-quarters of the main street with no luck and no one in sight.

Suddenly, from around a corner, a man came striding, clad in a great coat and a thick woolen scarf wrapped around his face and neck. He had on a cloth cap and large black boots and was walking quickly, the sooner to be home and out of this damned cold I reckoned.

I hailed to him, and he stopped up short, startled to find anyone about and particularly a stranger on a limping horse. I called over to him, asking him where I might find shelter for the night and did he know of an inn hereabouts. He paused for a moment and, without answering directly, pointed one half-gloved finger up the road. Then he thrust his hand into his coat pocket and strode off up the street. I prodded the horse on and in a moment was at the far edge of the town, standing in front of an… “inn”.

I had never seen such a place. The structure itself was of a typical construction, with white plastered walls and thatched roof and gables and the like. But there, any comparison to a common tavern ended for the entire building was buried up to the ledges of its windows in the earth below it. And it was set at a crazy angle with one end of the building slanting up to the other. It gave the appearance that the entire inn was being pulled down into the earth and that it was being eaten up, bit by bit, by the surrounding countryside.

Over the door (which could only be reached now down a slope of earth that had been cleared away to allow admittance) hung a rough-hewn, wooden sign that blew back and forth in the stiff breeze. “The Sinking Inn” it proclaimed. So, it would seem that this local hostel had not recently fallen upon its position but had been so for some time. At least long enough for them to change the name and this some time ago, judging by the worn look of the sign.

 I wondered as to how the building could possibly be safe in this condition but as they say, beggars cannot be choosers, so I dismounted, tied the horse to a post outside, descended the earthen ramp and entered The Sinking Inn.

Inside, as you might imagine, the room was misshapen and odd. The roof and beams were at absurd angles, but the floor had been raised or levered up and was at roughly the angle one would expect for easy use by its inhabitants. There was a blazing fire at one end of the room which I quickly strode to and continued my inspection of the place. At a table not far away an old man sat, his chin not far from the cane handle that propped him up. A flagon of ale sat on the table and a dog curled at his feet. It seemed that both were fast asleep. The Innkeeper, a burly man with ruddy cheeks and a stern countenance, eyed me from behind the counter as he cleared the last of some cups up on to the shelf behind him. To his left was a door that I imagined led into the kitchens and at the far end of the room a set of stairs led up on a treacherous angle to the rooms above. There were candles set about, a lantern fixed over the bar and atop the entrance door, the head of a boar that seemed to be about to fall and would surely kill the next entrant. Indeed, It might have been me, in fact, should I have shut the door too harshly when I came in.

The overall effect of the room was to leave one almost giddy as attempts to make head or tail of the proper perspective of it were useless. At this time, a young, plump girl entered from the kitchen with a tray of dishes and, spotting me, placed them down and approached. She smiled and her cheeks, that seemed to have two apples positioned in them, raised up and down as she spoke.

“G’evenin’ to ye, sor,” she said, wiping her wet hands on her apron, “is there anything I can get for ye?”

“Yes,” I replied, “can you tell me if a traveler might find lodging for the night here and perhaps a plate of food?”

“Well, as to the room, sor, we can certainly find that for you. I’m afraid the only food that’s left now though is some stew and perhaps a scrap of bread or two.”

“The stew would be most welcome,” I assured her, “and perhaps some ale.”

“We have the finest in the world,” she proclaimed proudly and smiling again turned to fetch it.

“Oh, and if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I have a horse outside that needs shelter as much as I.”

At this the barkeeper joined in. “There’s a stable out to the back of the place that would do. There are oats and water and blankets there, but it will cost you extra coin.”

“I would expect no less,” I answered and wasting no time, I exited the tavern and took the poor animal, now limping more noticeably, to his room for the night. When I returned, I walked over to the counter and asked of the inn man if there was a local smithy that might look to my horse.

“Aye, there’s a smithy. By name of Corban. I’ll send a boy for him in the morning, if that would suit you,” he said.

“It would suit me fine, and I thank thee,” I replied.

At that moment my stew and bread arrived, and the maid placed it on a table across from the sleeping ancient. Thanking her, I sat down and began to eat voraciously. An odd thing happened, though. Hungry as I was and in need of nourishment, I was amazed immediately as to how little flavour there was to be found in the dish. I could see the pieces of lamb, the chunks of potato and the carrots swimming around in the dark broth, but it tasted as if it consisted of nothing but water. The odour of it was transfixing though and made the mystery of why it tasted so thinly even greater. When the ale arrived, I grabbed this up and poured a good quantity of it down my throat. Expecting the warm, sweet savour of a fine ale to be the result, I was mystified to find that I might as well have drunk down a beaker of water.

I considered complaining to the inn keeper but thought the better of it, reasoning that they might refuse me the room above if I complained overly. Besides, even though tasteless, the food had filled me anyhow and I had no more hunger. The ale, too, was having its desired effect and I was slightly warmer. A combination, probably, of the ale and my long ride in the cold air. I would have to find my way to my bed soon, I thought.

Looking up, I realize that the old man was now awake and was staring at me. When he saw me look over, he winked at me and beckoned me to his table. Being the polite sort it was beyond me to refuse, even though all I really wanted now was to climb upstairs and nestle beneath some fine down quilts. I got up and joined him.

 

“Welcome to the Sinking Inn,” he said as he pulled a piece of bread from off of his bowl and tossed it down to the hound, who was now awake also and stirring beneath him. “Have you come far?”

“From Gimroy by the coast road,” I replied.

“That’s odd,” he said. “I know many of the folk of Gimroy. I don’t recognize you from among them.”

“I’m not a citizen. I came by boat this morning and am making my way to Trethmondy on business there.”

“Important business, and all, I would say, to make you take to the roads on this chill night.”

I realized that he wanted more information, that his curiosity, spurred on by the boredom of his rural existence probably, was what he was after, but I wasn’t of a mind to discuss my dealings, especially with him and especially in my weary state. I decided to change the subject.

“This Inn is a peculiar place. I’ve never seen the like,” I said, glancing around.

“Aye, it’s true,” the old man said, his tone a bit petulant that I hadn’t sufficiently answered him. “You’re not likely to see another like it.”

“I’ll warrant that’s true,” I said. “What happened to it? Is it the ground around it that has given way?”

“Yes, I think that’s it,” he said. “At any rate, it’s been like it since I can remember, and that’s a long time. But time is odd that way, isn’t it? Sometimes I can remember things that happened when I was but a young lad and then there’s other times when I can’t remember what I had for my morning meal.”

“Would you allow me to freshen your ale cup?” I asked, feeling warmer and more convivial now that my ale was gone.

“You’re a kind, gent. Ta very much,” he answered.

I rose up and approached the barman. “Two more ales, if you please, inn keeper,” I asked of him.

“Of course, sor. I’ll bring them right over to ye,” he said, turning to me.

“Thank you, kindly. And would you mind asking your girl to bring more bread. I am still somewhat hungry.”

The barman looked at me queerly. “Girl?” he asked slowly.

“Aye, man, the girl that first served me when I came in.”

“I have no gorl, sor.”

“How do ye mean, no girl? Did she leave for the night?”

“No one’s left, sor. There is no gorl. But I will bring ye more bread if that’s what yer wont.”

I was perplexed but decided not to pursue this matter as it was clearly the result of a misunderstanding, probably stemming from my mishearing his odd accent. I returned to the table where the old man awaited.

“That’s very odd,” I ventured as I sat down.

“How’s that?” said the old man.

“I asked the inn keeper to have the serving girl bring us more bread, but he said that there was no girl. Very odd.”

“Well, it’s true. Morgan’s had no serving girl since the last one quit last winter and left for the city with a stranger that had passed through.”

I looked him over wondering whether I was now the victim of some local prank that these people had cooked up between them and visited upon unfortunate strangers venturing in. I know this had happened to others before in similar circumstance. But I figured that there was no use in going into it as, if I was right, it would just provide further fodder for more merriment at my expense. I looked down and noticed that a large chunk of the bread the old man had tossed down onto the floor remained there, uneaten. Probably, I supposed, because the dog was gone and had left it for the mice.

“It seems your dog has gone to relieve himself,” I said. “Hopefully not inside, as the inn keeper doesn’t look like the sort to take that very favourably.”

The old man looked at me over the top of his ale flagon. “Dog?” he said.

“Yes, your dog. The one you just gave that bread too,” I replied, starting to become annoyed.

“Oh, dropped some bread, have I?” he said, glancing down. “How careless of me. These old fingers you know.?” He reached down and scooped up the bread and putting it to his mouth, bit off a chunk and chewed on it thoughtfully.

“Are you about to tell me that you have no dog?” I asked.

“I have three dogs, actually,” he replied. “But they’re all at home guarding the coops. I don’t bring them into town with me.”

“Well, then I guess your old eyes missed this one that must have followed you. For it was at your feet when I came in.”

“You certainly are sure of yourself, aren’t you?” the old man said. “The young seem to be that way these days. So certain about everything.”

I had had enough. “Fine," I said. “If it is the common sport of this town to make strangers feel foolish and unwelcome, then so be it. I am tired of this town and this day also, so I am going now to bed. I bid you goodnight, sir."

I got up, angrily, and started towards the stairs but I realized that I had no  idea which room was to be mine. Also, I was already beginning to feel guilty at my reactions to the old man and thought to pay for his meal by way of apologizing to him. I crossed to the Inn Keeper and said as much.

“Morgan, for such as I understand your name to be…”

“It is that, sor. Morgan."

“Yes, as well as my own supper I wish to pay for the old gentleman’s food as well. For he has been good company, and I am afraid that I was rude towards him at the end.”

“Old gentleman, sor?” Came his slow reply.

Now I was beside myself. “Yes!” I fairly shouted at the fat old fool. “The old gentleman. That gentleman over…”

I turned to point to the table at which the old man sat but he was gone. He was gone, his coat that had hung on the chair was gone and the only thing that remained there was my empty ale cup and the half-eaten bowl of bread. I turned back to the Innkeeper and stared at him. Daring him to return my look and hoping that he would.

“I would like to go to my room now,” I said with great measure, emphasizing each syllable and word, all the better to make known my displeasure.

“The second room on the right will be yorn,” said Morgan. “It isn’t locked.”

Without another word, I turned and mounted the stairs quickly leaving the fool to stare after me, his mouth hanging open. I arrived at the top of the stairs and turned to my right and to the second door along. Locked. I cursed under my breath and marched back down the stairs to have it out with the inn keeper. I was beginning to wish now that I had taken the bed under the tree with a fire and the horse for company. Better that than this mad house.

However, when I came out into the inn’s main room the counter was deserted. But I was not to be denied, and I rounded the bar and pushed on the kitchen door. It too was locked. I pounded on the door crying out the man’s name. There was no reply. I pounded again, harder. Nothing.

The once blazing fire had now gone out and the air inside the Inn was beginning to chill.

“Madhouse!” I shouted out and once more began to climb the stairs hoping that another of the rooms would be open and vacant and that I could, at last, find some peace. But as I started to ascend the stairs I felt as though the very floor had been pulled from beneath me. It felt as though the entire building had been shoved to one side and I fell heavily against the wall. Another jolt and I was thrown to the other wall. The building was shifting on its foundations!

I struggled and re-gained my balance and then jumped down the few stairs to the ground floor. I ran to the main door and threw it open seeking to escape before the roof came down around my ears. I gasped at what I found. From bottom to top I was met with a solid wall of earth. And this wall of dirt and rock outside was slowly moving upwards! The building wasn’t shaking, it was sinking down into the earth!

I screamed and fled to the one window in the place and flung open the shutters. It was the same thing. An earthen wall ascended as the room, the Inn and I in it collapsed into the soil. The horrendous noise of the walls scraping against the rock outside was deafening. 

 

Suddenly, to this was added another noise and I turned about to find a steady stream of soil spewing out of the fireplace. The earth was coming down the chimney! I hurled myself against the flu rod, but it wouldn’t budge. The amount of sediment crowding down the chimney wouldn’t allow the hinge to work.

I sobbed in frustration and fear and turned again only to find a slow flood of earth descending the steps from what had been the second floor. Obviously, the roof was now below ground level and the earth above was beginning to collapse around it and over it, flowing in through the remnants of the destroyed thatching.

In shock and shaking with fear I staggered to the table in the centre of the room and sat down. My situation was now hopeless, and I began to weep. I bowed my head and buried my face in my hands. And soon, the earth buried my hands and all with its dark inevitability.