The Wren and Anchor

Evening. Thanks for having me on. I've been meaning to call about this for a while now, if I'm being honest. Just never found the right moment. This happened in January of 2019. I was working at a pub called the Wren and Anchor, little place in Matlock, Derbyshire. Old building, must have been three hundred years old at least. Stone walls, low ceilings, the works. I'd been there about two years by then. Knew the place inside and out. That particular night, I was locking up alone. Manager had gone home with a stomach bug around nine, and the other staff had clocked off by eleven. Just me and the building. I'd left my mobile in the car, battery was dead anyway. Hadn't bothered to grab it. Figured I'd be done in half an hour. I should mention I'd had a row with my landlord that morning about the boiler. Stupid thing to remember, but I was in a foul mood already. Just wanted to finish up and go home.

So it's around midnight, maybe quarter past. I'm wiping down the bar, stacking the last of the glasses. I hadn't turned the main lights on yet. Just the bit coming through from the street lamps outside. The back rooms were pitch black. That's when I heard it. This banging. Coming from the snug, the little side room we used for private functions. Not like someone knocking. More like someone slapping their palm flat on a table, over and over. Rhythmic, almost. Bang. Bang. Bang. I stopped what I was doing. Stood there listening. The pub was locked. I'd done the doors myself, checked the windows. There shouldn't have been anyone else in there. Then it stopped. Just silence. And I thought, right, pipes maybe. Old building, they make noises. I went back to the glasses. Told myself I was being daft.

Couldn't have been two minutes later when I heard the first bottle go. That sound, you know it instantly. Glass shattering on a stone floor. Then another. Then another. Three, four, five bottles in quick succession. I grabbed the cricket bat we kept behind the bar. Don't laugh, it was all we had. Started walking toward the cellar door because that's where it sounded like it was coming from. My heart was going, if I'm being honest. Thought maybe someone had broken in, was down there helping themselves to the stock. I got to the cellar door and it was still bolted from the inside. Exactly how I'd left it. But the sounds were coming from down there. More glass breaking. And then this chittering noise, like... I don't know how to describe it. Like teeth clicking together very fast. I unbolted the door. Pulled it open. The smell hit me first. Like copper and wet soil.