The Black Swan or The Fox? I weighed the pros and cons. The both of them did bar meals, so there was no choice there. The Fox at one end of the village was a modern brick built establishment, while The Mucky Duck was the real I am - a three-hundred-year old, traditional village pub, with low ceilings, and exposed beams that had an inglenook fireplace. I picked the Mucky Duck because it was the closest – not by much – and I fancied an old fashioned ploughman’s lunch. Maybe it would become our local? After all, as of four hour ago my husband and I were resident in the village.
I stooped through the doorway and found myself in an unexpectedly large and empty lounge bar. I gave a discreet cough and when that didn’t work called out, ‘Shop…Hello.’
‘He’ll not be long,’ a voice from behind me called.
Startled, I spun around, but could see no one. Puzzled but not unduly alarmed I turned back and waited.
‘He’s in the cellar,’ the voice said.
I turned and scanned the room carefully; the place was empty and I was getting a little jittery. ‘Hello…is anyone there?’
‘Aye, me.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Over here, in the corner.’
I walked further into the room and found the source of the voice in a recess at the side of the inglenook. ‘Found me then,’ said the Mynah bird from his perch inside a large domed cage.
I didn’t know what to say, I knew that Mynah birds could talk, but I had never heard of one that could hold a conversation.
‘Got any salted nuts? I love salted peanuts.’
I shook my head.
‘Cat got your tongue then?’ asked the bird.
‘No, it’s just that I got a shock when you called out.’
‘Aye, I thought you looked a bit pasty.’
‘Well, so would you if you heard a voice coming from nowhere. I thought the place was haunted.’
The bird chuckled. I swear to God he did. I must have been mad, talking to a bird, but I couldn’t help myself, I had to ask, ‘Why the chuckle?’
‘It was what you said about the place being haunted. It’s impossible; there is no such thing as a ghost. I’ve been here for years and I’ve never seen one yet. Mind you sitting here night after night I’ve heard the tales they tell of ghostly voices, but I’ve never heard one of those either.’
I was about to reply, when I heard another voice, ‘Can I help you, my dear?’
The landlord had returned from the nether reaches of the cellar and now stood behind the bar. I walked over and ordered a ploughman’s and a half of lager. Then I remembered the bird, ‘And a packet of salted nuts for bird.’
‘Bless you, my dear, you can’t feed Albert, he’s stuffed. Has been for the past twenty years.’
