3.2: A face at the window

With a start, he is awake with a memory, as it were, of a gunshot. Ah. It is November the Fifth and there are fireworks being let off in the town down the hill from the Swan Hotel. Having seen no one for longer than a week, he should, perhaps, have ventured down but Froggie has never bothered to find out if the Barman keeps a torch, necessary for climbing back up the narrow tracks in the dark. 

Before he left, the Barman pointed out 10 barrels of Toads’ Tipple in the cellar, strong enough to keep unopened until Christmas, and charged Froggie with putting on a fresh cask every Sunday evening and to keep the pub open. This week, however, there have been no other customers and so he pours away all but but the beer he himself has drunk, his payment in kind for keeping the pub open. 

He pours himself a pint from the new barrel and his tankard trembles. He cannot forget that five nights ago, on Halloween, he seemed to hear footsteps outside although no customer arrived. But there at the scullery window he is sure he saw a ghostly image. Could it simply have been his own reflection, as he has been trying to persuade himself ever since?