Myskham - The Elder Sign

The Elder Sign, while not an imposing site, is certainly a local place for local people. Roger Prendergast was feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. Not that he could see the passing of time from the broken clock on the wall. He nursed his drink. Roger had never tried moonshine before but he had the distinct impression that this was it. He was careful not to spill any for fear of stripping the polish from his shoes. Despite keeping to himself, he couldn’t help but hear the murmuring coming from the other patrons. It seemed to be an older local dialect, almost unchanged by the passing of time. As if this particular part of town didn’t have access to the outside world, or at least chose not to recognise it. Almost everyone here was stocky, with wrinkled leathery skin, assumedly a product of the local canning factory pumping god-knows-what into the air. Roger Prendergast hoped his car wouldn’t take much longer to fix. He dreaded the thought of staying for the night.