I worked in my local pub and would often stay overnight with the other bar manager, sharing a room. Hearing noises at night was not unusual. Sometimes the juke box would turn on by itself; other times, voices and laughter drifted up from the empty bar. I used to find this comforting, imagining former patrons enjoying a late drink.
Every morning, no matter how thoroughly we had cleaned the bar top the night before, we would find three water marks, as if the landlord and two regulars had shared a final round.
Other phenomena began. While in the bathroom, I would hear knocks on the door, but no one would answer, and often I was alone upstairs. I heard running footsteps and a child's laughter. The sash window in my room never closed fully, causing condensation to form on my full-length mirror. In the morning, two small handprints would appear at its bottom. These occurrences still didn't frighten me; they felt oddly reassuring.
At night, I sometimes felt someone slip into bed and sensed two small hands pressing against the small of my back. However, events soon took a darker turn.
One night after closing, while cleaning with my friend, I checked the ladies' toilet. It had a door to a courtyard, but the key was lost. I saw the door handle move. Thinking someone was outside, I called my friend to look. He saw no one. Then, the handle began shaking violently. I ran out to him.
Together, we watched through the window as an unseen force rattled the handle. We fled upstairs, turned on all the lights, and slept in the living room. From then on, I dreaded nighttime trips to the toilet.
The bathroom was at the end of a corridor, and I always felt something walking close behind me. Once, I saw a tall, dark shadow turn the corner into the kitchen, but the room was empty. I grew afraid of being upstairs alone.
Downstairs, the bar retained a friendly atmosphere, but upstairs felt oppressive and claustrophobic. One night, I awoke to find my sash window open. A tall figure stood on the balcony, gazing over the town, before leaping from the roof.
The child's presence, once a comfort, now terrified me. She was a little girl, and the dark man's appearance seemed to terrify her. I saw her standing in a doorway, screaming as the black shadow approached from behind. Cries and screams pierced the dead of night.
My friend eventually tore down the old, bricked-up fireplace in our shared room. That act changed everything. I sensed a dreadful presence throughout the entire pub afterward. I never worked or stayed there again.