h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

It was a dark and stormy night, the wind battering the weather-beaten sign that hung outside the pub, its insignia faded but still clearly showing that the pub's name - The Hanged Man - had nothing to do with male prowess, and everything to do with gallows.

The inn had originally been little more than a squat stone hut on the wind-swept moore; traditionally it was the last place the condemned were brought to sleep before being taken away, protesting and crying, across the lane to be hung at dawn.

But now it played host to an unlikely set of characters who wouldn't be out of place in a Dickensian novel. The owner, a tall, gaunt man, seemed to have an obsession with gothic architecture for he had extended the original hut into a building of impossible heights and depths, decorated with gargoyles and flying butts..oops... buttresses...

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But now it played host to an unlikely set of characters who wouldn't be out of place in a Dickensian novel. The owner, a tall, gaunt man, seemed to have an obsession with gothic architecture for he had extended the original hut into a building of impossible heights and depths, decorated with gargoyles and flying butts..oops... buttresses...

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The gargoyles with their flying butts..err...buttresses, over-looked the ragged hills before them. High above them lightning danced from cloud to cloud threatening to at any moment a strike to Earth. A sheet of rain wafted down and ushered in behind it a moment of odd stillness; off in the distance - the clatter of a stagecoach.

A flash of lightening lit up the night, casting a strange unearthly glow to the landscape. The trees stood out in stark relief, black and bare, casting their shadows on the storm-lashed moor.

As the light faded, a deafening crack of thunder rolled across the skies. The dogs inside the inn began to bark, and the horses in the stables grew restless, and whinnied nervously.

The faint sounds of the stagecoach grew louder.

... and louder until the creaking of the wheels and the frantic urging-on of the horses drowned even the mightiest the thunder could offer.

High amongst the turrets and flying butts... err... buttresses, a pale light shone. It did not flicker, as a candle flickers, but glowed with a luminescense akin to a harvest moon.

The stagecoach veered into the stable yard and slid to a frantic stop. Two grooms hurried forward to assist the occupants of the stage as a stable lad tried to calm the terrified horses. When the youngest and smallest of the grooms opened the heavy, black-embossed door to allow the passengers to disembark, however,...

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...the clouds parted, and the full moon cast a clear, pale light over the first passenger, a tall, hooded figure - but it didn't cast any shadow on the ground

A slender and pale hand gripped the door frame of the coach.

"Take me to my quarters!" The voice from within instructed.

"Yessir!" said the voices hurridly from without. The chargehands knew you didn't hang about outside on a night like this....

lugging some of the decptivly heavy boxes towards the lit door frameone of the men stumbled.

"DON'T DROP IT!!" barked their unseen master.

The man managed a desperate pirouette and planted the box on the second step of the steps leading from the coutyard to the parlour of the inn.

He felt a presence behind him and turning, looked up into the balck hooded cape of the figure from the carrage. A flash of lightning ripped across the sky and the moment passed. but the man quietly prayed, that he would never in his whole life ever have to look into eyes like that again...


He wouldn't have long to wait....


The second helper was already half-way inside the door.
"Come -we'll show you to your room."

"I am invited then?"
"Yes, the master sent us to collect you bags for you especially. Come inside before that weather worsens.
"I rather like it." said the dark man as he strode up the steps and into the Hanged Man's Inn.

The door creaked noisily and mysteriously shut itself and threw its bolts behind the traveller.

The traveller was not amused by this and ordered the servants to pick them up and close the door properly.

The newcomer moved silently across the floor and the servant noticed with a shudder that his feet didn't appear to touch the ground... but then realised that he was standing on a bone which had lain there since the last great meal.

'I'll fetch the landlord fer ye sirrrrrrr'

he croaked and fled up the stairs without delay.

Delay, of course, wasn't too pleased by that.

An ancient grandfather clock slowly ticked away the seconds... 5 minutes to midnight, 4 minutes 59 seconds to midnight, 4 minutes 58 seconds to midnight...

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The clock kept counting.

Four minutes...

Three minutes...

Two...

"Aye, sir, follow me."

"Where are we going?"

"To the landlord's quarters..."

One minute until midnight...

Midnight struck! Hard!

'Here we are, the landlord's quarters,' said the servant, pointing at four piles of what looked like old, stained clothes.

'Uh?' said the traveller.

'Yes,' said the servant, lifting the corner of one pile of clothes. 'This is his top-right quarter, here's his top-left...'

They reached the landlords rooms with twelve seconds to midnight remaining,

'I'll leave you ere then'

A frosty silence eminated from the other figure.

He ran away.

The grandfather clock down the hall began to strike twelve.

On the twelth stroke, the silent figure extended a bony hand and knocked once, twice, thrice on the door.

A voice called from within, 'I've been expecting you.'

A change came over the figure, it wasn't physical, but it was a small, silent, slow smile.

And then the maid's eyes lowered to the ground, and with a pitiful sob, she blurted out 'Please! Turn back! You MUST turn back! A great tragedy's bound to befall us all!

And with that she ran off. Wailing. Like a whale.

'Goodness me,' thought the traveller. 'It feels almost as if I'm in two stories here.'

'How do you think *I* feel?' said the Landlord. 'I don't even know if I'm supposed to be alive!'

erm, someone choose a storyline to follow

'Eh? What's that eerie voice talking about stories?' said the Landlord, having pulled himself together. 'I need a beer!'

And with that the Landlord grabbed the traveller by the arm, and took him downstairs for a pint of the local brew, Virgin's Blood. And it was here that he started to tell a story about the scary history of The Hanged Man...

So as he sat with his new patron, a dark and mysterious stroy began to unfold.

'You see, it was nearly ten years ago this coming Sunday that a new family moved into the area. Seemed like an ordinary family; the bloke was a blacksmith, and his wife...'

He paused only to take a gulp of the black stuff.

'Well, she was a beauty. Lovely bird. Nice pair of...'

'Oi!' came a scream from the bar - the barmaid, who was now looking incandescant with rage.

'...if you'd let me finish; twins they had! Happy now?'

She grumbled something; although inaudible, it was most certainly not pleasant.

'Seems like a perfectly ordinary family to me,' said the patron, 'nothing wrong at the moment.'

'It's called plot setting and character development,' came the tart reply from the landlord, 'now, where was I?'

Meanwhile, the moon has been hidden behind the clouds again, and in the darkness that follows a second figure emerges from the stagecoach...

...a very short figure with a goatee.

He looked around and spotting a deep shadow near the doorway, he walked toward it with a distinct limp...