A grim one
This story goes back some 22 years, to when I was 18 years old. Ive changed the name of the pub, and the names of the couple who ran it, for reasons which will become apparent, but the rest is as accurate as I can remember it.

I had been drinking regularly in the local pubs for several years. This was a small village in Buckinghamshire, right out in the sticks. The kind of place where they didnt bother about such things as whether you were legally old enough to be drinking in a pub, closing times, or even whether someone was going to drive home plastered. My favourite pub, The Kings Arms, had regular lock-ins, and Dave, the landlord, used to let us smoke joints in there after hours. It was a real old fashioned English village pub (remember those?), but attracted some right characters, and a good night was always had.

Dave was a lazy old bugger and used to leave most of the graft to his wife, Janet, while he sat on a bar stool near the till, taking peoples money, drinking litres and litres of whisky and keeping us entertained with tales from his days in the RAF.

Janet hadnt been seen for a few weeks and people began asking of her whereabouts. Dave would just reply that she hadnt been feeling too well recently and was upstairs, asleep. We began to wonder if she'd finally had enough of the lazy old git and left him. Other than this, everything was normal. The pub was open every night, full of all the usual regulars, and Dave was his usual self, drinking loads of whisky and whinging every time he had to haul his arse up off his stool to serve someone.

Then one evening me and a coulpe of mates arrived at the Kings Arms to find it closed. Not only was it closed, but there was a police car parked outside. And 2 policemen standing around looking bored and cold and drinking tea from a flask. And police incident tape surrounding the pub. Never a good sign.

Being the cheeky young twats that we were, we approached the 2 policemen and asked when they were opening. "Fuck off, sonny" came the not entirely unexpected reply.

So we did, to one of the other pubs in the village. At the bar I asked what was going on over at the Kings Arms, and the reply from the barman sent a chill down my spine. It still chills me now, all these years later.

"He's killed her"

And indeed he had. Bludgeoned her to death with a hammer.

Now this is where things get seriously weird, as if it wasnt bad enough already.

Janet had been found by her daughter, upstairs in the pub, under the bed, wrapped in christmas paper. (WTF?) She had been dead for several weeks.

Now what really freaks me out still to this day, is that I was drinking in that pub, being served by Dave, laughing and joking with my mates, while this poor woman, who I had known for several years, was laying dead in one of the rooms above us.

He got life, of course, and died in prison about 8 years ago.

Sorry for lack of funny. I need to go and lie down.
(Lionel Tiger, Tue 10 Feb 2009, 23:16, 5 replies)

Christ
That's really unnerving in retrospect. The sort of thing to make you really unpleasantly paranoid.
(Sundayturkey has the biggest mug of tea, Wed 11 Feb 2009, 0:58, closed)

well, yes
it did give me nigtmares for a while. Even though the pub's long since been refurbished and turned into a posh eatery, I still feel uncomfortable going in there. They do a mean sunday roast now though.
(Lionel Tiger, Wed 11 Feb 2009, 1:41, closed)

And funnily enough
about the time the roasts got good was when the new landlord's missus went missing...
( uberdeity Wondered why Owen Lars knew of the term "hell" on, Wed 11 Feb 2009, 8:59, closed)

Whoa!
Freaky!
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Wed 11 Feb 2009, 9:18, closed)

Oh!
That's a bit of a head wreck that is!
(Woofie, Wed 11 Feb 2009, 16:33, closed)