This piece started out as a casual, one-off blog post—like so many of my bite-sized stories—but it refused to stay small. I thought we could compromise on a short story, while it insisted on becoming a novel. After hours of spirited negotiation, we struck a deal and settled on a novella. If you’re curious, you can find it here: https://amzn.to/40o2hJv. This draft was the seed; the final version in the novella is this scene cranked up to eleven.

The pub didn’t have a name. Its sign was blank, the wooden board swinging creakily above the cobblestone street as though it had forgotten what it was supposed to say. Noakes—the first one—paused in front of the door, hesitating. He checked his watch.

“3:03 p.m.” He muttered. A lucky time.

The second Noakes bumped into him from behind. “Well, are we going in or not? I’m parched.”

Noakes—the first—turned, raising an eyebrow at the uncanny resemblance. The man behind him looked exactly like him, down to the scratch on his chin and the threadbare scarf around his neck.

“I… sorry, but who are you?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m Noakes,” the second man said casually. “Same as you, mate.” He stepped past and pushed open the door, the scent of old wood and stale beer wafting out. “Coming or not?”

Noakes—the first—followed, his curiosity outweighing his unease.

Inside, the barroom stretched impossibly far. Rows of tables lined with flickering candles seemed to fade into the distance, disappearing into a haze of smoke and dim light. The air buzzed faintly, a low hum that seemed to resonate in the bones.

“Two pints,” Noakes—the second—said to the barkeep, who had already turned around and started pouring before the words were fully out.

The barkeep was a wiry, ageless man with one eye larger than the other, giving him a permanently surprised expression. He slid the pints over without a word.

“Cheers,” Noakes—the first—muttered, raising his glass. They clinked, the sound strangely hollow, as though the pint glasses were made of something other than glass.

The first sip hit like a hammer. Noakes—the first—gasped as his vision blurred. The bar around him expanded outward in a kaleidoscope of colors, the tables multiplying into endless rows, the hum rising to a deafening crescendo before settling back into its low buzz.

“What the hell?” he croaked.

Noakes—the second—grinned. “Yeah, it does that.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “You notice anything… different yet?”

Noakes—the first—looked down. His hands were trembling slightly, but that wasn’t unusual after a strong drink. The barroom, however, had changed. Where before there had been a handful of patrons—a hunched man in a flat cap, a woman nursing a martini in the corner—there were now dozens of figures, all identical to himself. Each sat at their own table, some deep in conversation, others staring blankly at the flickering candles.

“What the…”

“They’re all Noakes,” the second Noakes said. “Just like you. Just like me.”

“How?”

The second Noakes shrugged. “You’ll figure it out. Or maybe you won’t. Either way, have another drink.”

The barkeep set another pint in front of him without being asked.

“I don’t want another drink,” Noakes—the first—said, his voice shaking.

The second Noakes laughed, a hollow, echoing sound. “Yeah, that’s what we all say at first. But you will. You always do.”

He drained his glass and stood. “See you around, mate. Or maybe I won’t.” And with that, he vanished into the endless rows of tables, leaving Noakes—the first—alone with the hum, the candlelight, and the reflection of his own face staring back at him from every corner of the bar.

The barkeep smiled. “Another?”

Where does Noakes’s story go from here? The expanded version is available here.