"I'm telling you, man. Counterspells are for losers. Big creatures smashing into each other, that's what it's all about," said Lee, exasperated at Paul's defence of that frankly disgusting Magic mechanic. "You just like making other people suffer, you fucking masochist."Grinning, Paul shot back, "Sorry mate, don't speak loser. Go cry into your catgirl body pillow."Lee groaned. He wouldn't be caught dead owning one of those. Not that it ever stopped the usual catgirl comeback.

  Ste laughed. He'd heard this rant before and knew he was probably the worst offender when it came to loading his decks with Lee's pet hate.

  "At least you lot draw lands," Liam added, deadpan. "Mine abandon me as soon as I shuffle."

  "Can we shut up about Magic: The fucking Gathering, please?" Parmo cut in, pushing his chair back. "I'd rather listen to Lee go on about catgirls than this shite. Anyone want owt from the bar?"

  "I'll join you," Paul said, beginning the awkward shuffle out of the corner. He nearly took Liam's eye out with his arse on the way past.

  "Jesus, get that thing out of my face!" Liam bellowed, winding up like he was about to give Paul the hardest smack he could manage. Paul jumped the rest of the way past him, grinning at the exaggerated swing.

  The table broke into laughter. Laughter that came from years of knowing exactly how to wind each other up. It was Friday, the air was warm, and for a moment, Lee forgot how heavy the week had been.

  Forgot about bills. That constant worry in the back of his mind telling him something was wrong. The ache behind his eyes. Forgot, for just a moment, that his two boys were at his mum's for the weekend and he needed to be awake bright and early. For a moment, it was easy.

  For once, the sun was actually out in Monkhaven. Not just a brief glare between clouds, but genuine warmth. The kind that made people strip down like they were in Ibiza and complain about it ten minutes later.It had only been this way for half an hour, and the King John's beer garden was already packed. Pints sweating on warped wooden tables, pale arms soaking in UV, attempting to scrub away the farmer's tan most of the locals wore. Someone had even brought a dog in sunglasses, which somehow didn't feel out of place.

  Lee slumped back in his chair, squinting against the glare. His oversized hoodie was zipped halfway, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, the fabric clinging damply to his back. Sweat pooled beneath it, but he couldn't bring himself to take it off. Better to stew in it than sit there feeling exposed. Pale, blotchy skin showed at his wrists and neck. The discomfort of his jeans pressed against his skin, a reminder of the weight he carried.

  Ste sat nearby, running a hand over his freshly shaved head. He wore jogging bottoms despite the heat, relaxed and unbothered. Liam leaned back with easy comfort despite being the shortest of the group at barely five-six. His receding fringe and large head gave him a boyish look, though the muscle tone from regular gym visits marked him as the healthiest among them.

  Still, the sun felt good. It cut through the usual fog in Lee's head. The quiet buzz of dread. The sense that doing anything to improve himself was a waste of time, it wouldn't last. For now, it softened everything. The week's stress. The apathy that kept him stuck in a never ending rut. The weight that made every plan feel pointless before it even started.

  Just for a little while, it was easy.

  ***

  The bar inside the King John's was louder than usual. Not rowdy, just full. Locals squeezed between the old brass taps at the bar and the fruit machines, which chimed away while people fed them money. The place smelled of lager. Sharp and yeasty, with hints of spilled cider and something deep-fried lingering from the dinnertime menu.

  Parmo leaned over the sticky bar, all angles and elbows, lanky and thin-framed. His glasses slid down his nose, the nose they'd joked about for years. A faint wheeze accompanied his breathing, the inhaler in his pocket a constant companion. Paul shifted on his stool, favouring the leg with the scarring from the motorbike crash, wider and marked, though his brown hair stayed neat with a sharp fade, his beard carefully trimmed.

  "Pint of John Smiths and a Moretti. Cheers."

  "Don't forget Ste's cider," Paul added, eyeing the taps. "And Liam's weird veggie lager. Tastes like damp Weetabix."

  "Might as well get Lee a pint of that piss he drinks. Dunno how he stomachs Carling, like," Parmo muttered, half-laughing. "Christ, I should've brought a clipboard. It's like feeding the bloody five thousand here."

  The bartender nodded and got to work. Paul leaned back against the bar, arms folded, eyes flicking up to the telly mounted in the corner above the spirits. Normally it showed Sky Sports News or the horses, sound off, subtitles half a second out of sync. Right now, it was flickering.

  Not fully off. Just glitching. The picture would wobble. Like buffering on a poor connection, only worse.

  "Bit weird," Paul muttered. "Telly's fucked."

  Parmo looked up, then over at a bloke a few stools down, furiously stabbing at his mobile like it owed him money.

  "You got signal?" the lad asked, frowning. "Mine says full bars but nowt's loading. No Wi-Fi either."

  Paul pulled his phone out, checked. Same. Full bars. Nothing working. Flipped it to flight mode and back again. Still nothing.

  "Yeah, mine's knackered too," he said, holding it out to show Parmo. "Can't even check the footy."

  Parmo rolled his eyes.

  "Who cares about the footie? How'm I gunna check Caedral's stream if I've no signal? Some bellend's probably clipped a line or something."

  The bartender slid the drinks over without a word. They each grabbed their pints. Foam clinging to the rims, condensation already beading on the glasses.

  Paul took a slow sip, glancing up at the flickering telly. "Bit weird isn't it. Signal's all over the place, and the telly's playing up."

  Parmo shrugged. "Kinda what you'd expect from a shithole like this."

  Paul nodded, half-smiling, shaking his head. "Yeah. Probably."

  They turned to head back outside, arms full of pints, the door creaking as it opened to the brightness beyond. Behind them, the telly flickered again. This time just long enough for a sliver of audio to cut through. A warped buzz. Half a second of something sharp and broken.

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Then silence.

  Neither of them noticed.

  ***

  Paul nudged the beer garden door open with his shoulder and stepped out into the light, squinting.

  "Jesus. It's bright. What a time to forget me aviators."

  "What is it with you and those sunglasses? They're all the same, man. Not like it'll matter for long anyway. We've had our hour of sun, it'll piss it down in five," grumbled Parmo.

  The table was mid-laugh when they returned. Liam was halfway through some story about one of the lads at work getting caught cheating on his missus because he'd ordered flowers to the wrong address with the wrong name on the card.

  "What a fucking idiot," Ste laughed.

  "Lee, what are the coolest sunglasses a man can buy?" asked Paul as he dropped back into his seat, while Parmo started handing out pints.

  "Aviators, obviously. Only cool kids wear aviators. Everyone knows this," said Lee, mock serious. Parmo just shook his head.

  "Cheers, lads," said Ste, quickly echoed by Lee and Liam as they lifted their glasses.

  They settled again, the table a little tighter now with the return of the drinks. The beer garden hummed around them. Soft chatter, the occasional bark, chairs dragging over concrete. Someone's phone was playing music a few tables away. It cut off halfway through the chorus.

  "Anyone else got signal?" Parmo asked, reminded of the weirdness back at the bar.

  Paul checked his phone.

  "Still says full bars. But nothing's loading."

  "Same," Lee said, already refreshing his feed. "Been trying to load YouTube for the last two minutes."

  Ste tapped at his screen a few times, then gave up with a grunt. "Yeah, fuck all. I was about to send a picture of the pints to Anth and Carl. That's what they get for spending time with their families instead of heeding the Fellowship's call."

  "Where were Anth and Carl when the Westfold fell?" joked Liam.

  "The beacons are lit. King John's calls for aid!" Parmo bellowed.

  "Anth would've just taken the piss anyway. That prick drinks Corona. Thinks he's Vin Diesel," laughed Paul.

  Lee had gone quiet. Still holding his phone. Staring at the screen. No notifications. Nothing new. He flicked it to airplane mode and back. Still nothing.

  The laughter from the next table had quieted too. Someone stood and glanced toward the high street like they'd heard something. Then sat back down, uncertain.

  "Bit weird," Liam muttered. "Place feels. Off."

  No one answered straight away.

  Then, quietly:

  "Yeah, I know what you mean," Lee said. "Ever had that thing where you think someone might be at the door, and then a second later. Bang. Someone knocks? Feels like that."

  A few of them chuckled. Not because it was funny, but because it was true.

  The table fell into silence. Not awkward. Just thoughtful. The kind that settles in when the heat turns heavy and the air stops moving. No breeze. No birdsong. Just the creak of parasols and a faint hum in the distance.

  Somewhere, the dog barked again.

  It didn't sound playful this time.

  The beer garden fell into a heavy silence.

  No chatter. No clink of glasses. No laughter. Even the usual distant hum of traffic was gone, as if the whole town had paused.

  The few scraggly plants lining one side of the yard hung still, their leaves motionless.

  Lee glanced around, voice low. "Anyone else feel that?"

  Paul nodded, eyes scanning the empty car park beyond the low fence. "Yeah. Feels like something weird's happening."

  The air changed. Not warmer, not colder. Just wrong. Colours felt off. The faded paint on the nearby buildings looked sharper, the shadows near the fence stretched and moved unnaturally.

  Everyone's eyes snapped up at once.

  Above the rooftops, the grey sky flickered like a faulty TV screen struggling to hold an image. A faint, low hum buzzed in the back of their heads, deep and unsettling.

  Paul's phone slipped from his fingers, hitting the cracked concrete. He bent down, flicked it on. Screen dead, signal gone.

  Others followed, phones falling silent one by one.

  A sudden, blinding flash tore across the sky. No source. Just pure, searing white light.

  For a moment, it was all anyone could see.

  Then, just as suddenly, everything snapped back.

  The sun shone, the sky was clear, and the day carried on.

  But the heavy stillness lingered.

  Parmo swallowed, voice barely a whisper. "...What the fuck was that?"

  No one answered.

  They stayed seated, the feeling that standing too quickly might trigger something else clawing quietly at the back of their minds.

  Somewhere inside, a glass smashed. The sharp sound rang out yet there was no reaction from the crowd. Just an eerie stillness.

  Ste slowly stood, eyes fixed on the empty sky. "That wasn't natural."Paul crouched again, thumbing the power button on his phone like it might wake up on the third try. Still dead.

  "Could be a power surge or something," Liam muttered, though it didn't sound like he believed it.

  At a nearby table, a couple were holding hands. One of them was shaking. A few feet away, a kid who'd been glued to a tablet now clung to their mum's leg, face buried.

  Inside the pub, movement stirred. People rising slowly from stools, glancing at each other like they were all waiting for someone to explain what had just happened.

  A bloke near the door stepped out into the garden, blinking against the light.

  "Anyone else's phone just conk out?"

  "Mine too," someone else called, further back. "It's dead. Proper dead."

  "Wi-Fi's gone."

  "Power's gone."

  "Looks like cars aren't starting either," Lee added, eyes scanning the car park beyond the fence to a man sat scratching the back of his head, staring at the dashboard of his car.

  A strange kind of hush followed. Not silent, exactly. Just still. Like the moment before a jump scare in a horror film, or the breath before a scream.

  Paul spoke up, frowning at the sky.

  "Didn't look like lightning. And there was no thunder."

  Ste ran a hand over his mouth.

  "That wasn't weather. That wasn't anything we've ever seen."

  Parmo tried to break the tension, raising his hands like claws, voice low and theatrical.

  "Aliens."

  It didn't land.

  No laughs. Just a few exchanged glances.

  The silence returned, heavier now.

  Lee stood and walked to the edge of the garden. Beyond the fence, the car park remained still. Empty, motionless. A street lamp turned on, flickered once, then died.

  "Dudes," he said quietly. "Look."

  Out on the high street, people were beginning to gather. In ones and twos at first, phones held aloft, faces creased in the same confused frown. Someone shouted something, but it didn't carry.

  Another car alarm trilled. Then cut off, mid-wail.

  Paul joined him at the fence.

  "Wanna go see what's happening?"

  Liam didn't move.

  "Why do I feel like we'll wish we hadn't?"