(Author’s note: I do not drink beer. So I do not really know how accurate this is.)
It came, its crab-insectile movement difficult to see though its large brackish blackish form was humanoid. To call its movements a shamble would have been a kindness beyond the abilities of any present.
It did not make its needs esoteric. “Beer,” he said. “Pulled pint.”
But there was the tragedy. And there was the rub.
For if they could barely look upon his walk, they certainly could not look upon his visage. Nor could they draw together the steadiness of hand needful to pull a good pint. They could be sure that death or something worse awaited failure; but this could not steady their nerves enough for success.
What happened to the barkeep? The screams, if such inhuman sounds could be said to have any real human equivalent at all, were of such tenor, length, and un-oerthly qualities that none wished to investigate the bars, nor the sounds which began after the beast left.
So the Innkeepers of Barnath, not looking at each other, not communicating with each other, began to drink.
Heavily did they drink. Long pints did they draw. They did not do so quickly, even though the horror approached. But they did so deeply. Thrain more perished before there came a Barkeep, old and wise in the ways of Thus and So. He drank his beer in deep pulls mixed with bitter wormwood, and he was ready.
“Guiness, Sir?” he asked. Indeed did his voice shake, but he drew straight and he drew true.
The beast threw the alcohol down his neck and uttered a howl. The hearts of every man present turned to ice and yet they lived; but of that, we ought not speak.
Then the beast turned and walked back towards the sea.
The bartender looked at the bar.
“HEY!” he called after it, “That’ll be £4.97!”
It turned.
It slapped a coin on the counter.
The coin un-glittered. It was as if brine and gold could melt into one. It was more primitive than a piece of eight, made of some obviously costly and strangely alien metal. It reflected, but it also sucked. Those who saw it saw the coin and a distorted version of themselves; they looked into that version until it began to move.
The creature returned to the sea, slowly, curdling milk and turning goldfish to stone as it passed.
It is hopefully still there, somewhere very deep and very, very far.
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