The small town pub is packed on Saturday, as usual, with miners looking to let off a little steam. You can’t hear yourself think over the chattering, yelling, singing, and thunderous laughter that erupt. A fire blared in the monstrous, stone fireplace that took up a whole corner of the room. The alcohol fueled festivities came to an abrupt stop when a young man, no more then 22, burst through the door pale as a ghost with a look of pure fear. Everything, and everyone stop and look at this frightened young man some with confusion, most with blank stares. The only thing that anyone hears now is the roar of the fire and this strange visitors heavy breathing.

After a long silence he says: “I was just in The City Of The Dead!”

Everyone simultaneously erupts into loud, hardy laughter. Skeptical miners yelling ‘that’s crazy’ ‘how much has the boy had to drink?’ ‘Either too much or not enough’.

“No, it’s true! I wouldn’t lie about this!” The young man said insistently.

One of the miners at the bar who was standing directly across from the door waves his hands in a ‘calm down’ motion.

“Tell us what happened, son.” He said after the room is quiet again, his voice gravely and slurred. He grabs the young man by the arm and pulls him further in the pub, and awkwardly slings his arm around the young man.

The young man is close enough now he can smell the miner’s terrible breathe and it takes everything in him to not react.

“The streets are cobble stone, the buildings, stone. Everything is dark, grey, the fog so thick you can’t even see your feet half the time! Figures, faceless, in black cloaks lurk in your periphery!”

The miners all glance at each other skeptically at his campfire story. The boy has barely taken a breath since he barged into the pub and he takes deep, gulping breaths as if his lungs can’t take it anymore.

The boy, feeling their doubts, skips to the most important part while he still has their attention. “And the cloaked figure that kept the huge bell in town center told me the mine will collapse tomorrow with you all in it, and you’ll all die if you don’t listen to me and heed my warning!”

“Hog wash!” Someone yelled and everyone erupts into laughter again that sounds more like yelling. The man that pulled the boy in is now shoving him out.

“Great story, boy, now go back to wherever you came from.” And slams the door in the young man’s face.

The young man tries banging on the door and windows, but it’s no use. He’s being ignored. He sits in the chair just outside the pub and rubs his face. He don’t know what else to do and sits and mourns the pub full of miners that have less then 12 hours left alive.