Featured in Farrago Magazine Edition Five 2026 as part of the Beth and the Bear column

Design by Marc Lebon

Outside, the sky was black and brimming; it was the kind of infectiously tense night that inspired a ghost story in children, and a lonely drink in men.

One such man, who had a name but didn’t care to share it, read his book in a dim corner. His position made Beth his designated attendant, which was fine with her. He was polite enough, handsome for his good hair and had the endearing habit, Beth noticed, of mouthing words as he read them.

When he wanted service, he looked across the room, straightened his back and sort of swayed, like a peering meerkat. Four times Beth travelled to him to replace a dastardly empty pint, and a fifth to take his dinner order of a chicken parmigiana, coleslaw, some chips and another pint.

Also in the pub were Adam, who was focused on some laptop-based admin, Sadie, behind the bar and Sadie’s boyfriend, opposite her. He was supposedly there to pick her up, but tonight, like most nights, he would drink too much, and Sadie would end up driving them both home. The only other customers were a small group having after-work drinks and an uncomfortable first date. The only other staff were the chef, Norman, and the dishie. Patron and staff alike felt the weight of the air this night. Living in it was like swimming through treacle.

There was minimal chatter, then a crack, then a bolt, then the sky broke open and an ocean fell onto the tin roof of the Sovereign Hotel. The ordeal must have been too stressful for the local power grid because moments after the pub was plunged into darkness. No one spoke. Beth couldn’t tell if her eyes were open or shut. She may well have been asleep for all she knew. She had been bringing the reader his meal but, in the darkness, she stood perfectly still and felt infinity. She would have stayed there forever, but the lights soon flickered back on.

~

Beth arrived at her table and performed her usual lines—I hope you enjoy your meal—Is there anything else I can get for you, sir? She was sent away on a salt-fetching mission. She grabbed pepper too for good measure and hurried back.

She first noticed that his book had fallen to the ground. She leaned down to pick it up for him. She was hit with her customer’s limp hand. Her gaze drifted up his arm until she found his entire body slumped forward, his face in his meal.

Excuse me, sir—Are you alright, sir? She was anxious to wake him before Adam saw, as he was very shrill when it came to RSA violations. Sir, please—She shook his shoulders—Sir, wake up. He didn’t.

She checked his pulse. The man was dead. Beth’s vision failed. Everything faded. Then there was the darkness again.

~

Sometime later—maybe moments, maybe hours—Beth came to and was surprised to discover that she was upright and in the middle of a hushed conversation.

Poison—Beth said to the female half of the first date. She looked intangibly familiar, an acquaintance’s sister perhaps. They both stood over the cold, stiff reader, from whose agape mouth foamy and strangely purple saliva leaked. From the parmi?!—The lady part-exclaimed, part-inquired.

He had died grasping his fork, whereon a bitten piece of chicken remained pierced. Beth gently tried to pry the silverware from him. He was strong for a dead man, but she managed to wiggle it free without losing the piece of meat. No allergic reaction could have killed this quickly—Beth thought out loud—He was dead before he could salt his meal. She inspected the meat closely; it was finely dusted with something that could have easily been parmesan. Beth suspected it was anything but.

Yes, I believe this man has been poisoned—she told the assembled pub-goers and staff.

You know—Adam said—No one has arrived or left the venue since the storm began—Beth interrupted his line of thought here—And assuming that the chicken wasn’t tampered with prior to its delivery this morning, which seems most likely since no one else who ate a parma tonight is dead. Oh my god—cried Sadie. Her boyfriend groaned. Two after-work-drinkers hugged each other desperately.

Another crack, another rumble. Either the building or she was swaying; Beth couldn’t tell. Her voice was strong and resonant, though, when she announced—The killer must be one of us!

~

Then there was darkness again. Beth floated about in glorious, infinite black fog. And she would have stayed forever if it weren’t for the damned light. Beth shivered and tried to turn away, but she couldn’t. She was too weak to swim against the current that forced her towards the violent light.

~

Beth was running a parm, coleslaw and some chips. She must have been moving, because her body reached its destination somehow. She said her lines and felt like she had swallowed a stone. It was a heavy and guilty feeling, and she knew something was very wrong. She turned away and it became clear to her that someone was going to die. An ache told her so.

She lurched forward; she was beyond logic or any semblance of civility. This was life and death, so she pulled the Parmigiana toward her and with her hands stiff and curled like claws she dug into the chicken. It was hot but not enough to burn her while she tore the poultry apart. Her customer looked on aghast. Beth smiled because she was sure she was saving a life. She felt glad to tear the flesh apart.