September 20th, 2010 -- "Spider's Tale, as told by candlelight and hours past closing at Callahan's Lost Pub."

All of the mugs of ale on the large and dusty oak table were warming in the dim light of the soft candles. Their owners were sitting heavy in their seats, relaxed, large men with large beards and dense clothing, sitting and wondering deeply as the story proceeded, breathing carefully and steady, leaning like children on creaky chair arms and elbows or table plank.

Spider sat at the head of the table and spoke softly. His eyes twinkled like fresh water next to the flame of the nearest candle. His speech was uninterrupted and spoke of spectacular marvels, epically proportioned accounts of near-death adventures and glamorous heroism. The crescendos of his sentences would climax with a slap or sweep of the table, maybe some pantomiming, all of which resulting in the combined gasping of the captivated audience. Tipped mugs would end up replaced lazily by their distracted owners.

From outside, the din of the story was held back by thick, wood walls; the glow of the candles a faint orange square from a distance. The woods by the edge of the field were dark and cool in the blue night. Above, the moon moved.


***