May 21, 2025 • 15 mins
A tired traveler, stopping for a drink in a quiet country pub, discovers that sometimes loneliness — and the ghosts of the past — demand more than just conversation.
Robert Kibble lives west of London with a wife and two cats, and a cornucopia of half-finished writing projects. A few have been published over the years, which – it has to be admitted – is very pleasing. If only a less creative day job wouldn’t keep getting in the way, he’s sure it would be more. You can find him at www.philosophicalleopard.com where you’ll find more short stories, links to his novels, and musings on why zeppelins don’t ply the skies.
Photo by Michael Starkie on Unsplash
You can read "Closing Time" at https://www.kaidankaistories.com.
Website: kaidankaistories.com
Please feel free to contact me through the website contact form.
Follow us on:
Instagram
Facebook
Bluesky
Substack
Robert Kibble lives west of London with a wife and two cats, and a cornucopia of half-finished writing projects. A few have been published over the years, which – it has to be admitted – is very pleasing. If only a less creative day job wouldn’t keep getting in the way, he’s sure it would be more. You can find him at www.philosophicalleopard.com where you’ll find more short stories, links to his novels, and musings on why zeppelins don’t ply the skies.
Photo by Michael Starkie on Unsplash
You can read "Closing Time" at https://www.kaidankaistories.com.
Website: kaidankaistories.com
Please feel free to contact me through the website contact form.
Follow us on:
Bluesky
Substack
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:09):
Welcome to the Kaido Kai Podcast, where the eerie, the mysterious,
and the spine chilling come alive in stories that linger
long after the last word is spoken. I'm your host
Linda Gould, and tonight I'm reading Closing Time by Robert Kibble.
A man on a walking holiday drops by a pub
(00:31):
in a quiet village after a long day, and he
strikes up a conversation with the barmaid, a barmaid who
has a secret. Robert Kibble lives west of London with
a wife and two cats, and a cornucopia of half
finished writing projects. A few have been published over the years, which,
it has to be admitted, is very pleasing. If only
(00:53):
a less creative day job wouldn't keep getting in the way,
He's sure it would be more. You can find him
at Philosophical Leopard dot com, where you'll find more short stories,
links to his novels, and musings on why zeppelins don't
ply the sky? So now dim the lights, settle in
and prepare yourself for Closing Time by Robert Kibble and enjoy.
(01:23):
It had definitely been almost still was a yellow chrysanthemum
struggling to hold onto the shape and beauty it had
once had, but this was a battle it had already lost.
Propped in a vase by one of the few graves
which had been tended in the decades this graveyard had
been otherwise abandoned, it still stood as proud as it could,
(01:47):
in front of a young woman's gravestone. She had died
in October nineteen eighteen, a month before the end of
the First World War. Tragic time to go. She'd been
a nurse. I suppose they're all tragedies. But someone had
kept this one cleaner than the surrounding graves. Maybe parents
(02:10):
they'd have long since died, maybe a younger sister, or
even nephews or nieces. This was all a distraction, though,
from the important find. The open pub ahead of me,
welcoming seating out front, no obvious other clientele, and probably
(02:31):
not food, So not as good as the pub I'd
been meaning to go to that was shut on Mondays.
I should have noticed on their website. These little out
of the way places often don't open all week, but
I'm used to the big city. It was only on
a whim two weeks back, realizing I had so much
leave yet to take, that I decided on this walking holiday.
(02:55):
My GPS told me I was two miles from my
B and B. Even though I'd go hopelessly lost earlier,
don't know what you'd do without phones. I had some
snacks back in my room, so a beer here and
then a half hour to home, and then, with blessed relief,
to my feet bed first beer, though, as I said important,
(03:21):
I ducked to get through the door and was met
by one of those old world pubs, you know, the
sort of thing with bits of farm machinery stuck to
the walls for no reason, and ancient pewter jugs just
hanging from the ceiling, books on bookshelves that screamed out
they'd been bought by the yard, by those companies who
survived by outfitting old world pubs. Not one could have
(03:44):
been taken down and red in decades. Nice interior, though
in many ways lots of snugs, nooks and crannies, places
which I knew from bitter experience, made being bar staff
in absolute nightmare when people didn't bring their glasses back
to the not an issue tonight, though, as the place
was deserted, only a solitary bar maid tapping away on
(04:08):
her phone. They had barstools, so I went up to
the bar plunked myself on one, to the relief of
my feet, although I did tell them not to get
used to the comforting rest, and nodded to her. What
can I get you, she asked, stepping across the stand
in front of me. Four different beers on tap. Oh,
(04:29):
he's a good sign, but surprising with the place being
empty still it was a monday. I looked through the options. Hmm,
I said, half a landlord. I half meant I could
have a second half of one of the others in
a bit, she smiled. A man could fall for a
(04:50):
smile like that, but bar maids must get that all
the time, so I thought, be the gent I'm on holiday,
probably only coming here once. Don't start getting stupid ideas,
even if you could equally fall into those dark eyes.
Now intently focused on the task in hand, that of
getting me half of Landlord. There you are, she said,
(05:13):
placing it carefully in front of me. No spillage. Another
of my bugbears when it came to serving staff. Thank
you quiet tonight always is early in the week. Only
get busy for the live music nights. Surprised you're open
at all. She turned to get the card machine, her
(05:34):
hair beautifully swishing as she did so, long dark hair, right,
I thought, find something to say, which isn't anything to
the effect of why an attractive young woman is in
a bar in the middle of nowhere on her own
with a single man. Don't say that. I couldn't think
of anything less creepy to say, so I got my
(05:55):
card out and paid, having not listened to how much
the beer even was. The machine pinged. She put it away,
giving me another swosh, enough for me to notice a
small yellow flower tucked into her hair, contrasting with the
dark I'm not normally like this, I should say. Maybe
it was tiredness, but something about her. She turned back
(06:19):
and I looked away, probably too late to avoid it
being obvious I'd been staring. But what else was there
to look at in this otherwise empty building? The farm machinery,
some of those old Sepia pictures that again I suspected
they sold by weight or volume. One of them behind
the bar was clearly this building, though so relevant at least,
(06:41):
But why put a picture of a building inside itself?
It had two middle aged ladies Victorian dresses standing in
front of what looked like a pub, unchanged from how
I saw it. The bar maid followed my gaze. Ah,
she began those two rand this back in the day.
It's them haunt the place what She smiled, as if
(07:03):
what she was saying was the most natural thing in
the world, with a disarming lack of concern, the kind
of concern I feel i'd have, even as a man
being alone in a building I so confidently said was haunted.
What do you mean they haunt this place? She leaned
slightly forward, dropping her voice. Oh, they rattle the plates
(07:24):
in the kitchen. They were doing that earlier this evening,
and people in the toilets have seen them in the
mirror standing behind them. And sometimes when I'm closing up,
a gust of cold, smoky air wafts along the bar,
covering it for a second. I looked up and down
the bar, and then back into those oh so delightful eyes.
(07:46):
What not a great conversation list me, at least not
when distracted by someone this pretty and an insane story
of haunted bar tops? Have you seen them? She laughed? Well,
I half laugh, as if what I was asking wasn't
stupid exactly, but was too obvious to answer. She stood
(08:08):
back up. You get used to them, and you're not
scared here on your own. Oh damnation, I said it, basically,
asking if she was scared of being alone now with
a strange man in her pub heading into the latter
part of the evening, She didn't appear to notice. Instead,
(08:29):
she looked around the room. I sometimes FaceTime one of
the other staff when I'm closing up, chat to them,
someone to keep me company. It was still alone. I
was oddly feeling protective of her. Now, Well, how late
do you stay open? I've been thinking of shutting up
if you hadn't arrived. She put up a hand as
(08:50):
if to say, stop. Oh, don't worry, it's fine. Nothing
else to do tonight. So if you want another or anything,
don't feel you have to stop. I'd finish my half already,
so I asked her for half of a local brewery.
Hunter is something weird lettering, which made it very hard
to read in the dim light. Had it been that
dim when I got in, maybe just the sun going down.
(09:14):
We went through the dance of pouring and paying again,
and this time she opened the conversation. I didn't notice
a car, did you walk yeah, walking holiday, far to go,
only a couple of miles GPS says, right out of here,
then left along past some kid's farm place. And I'm
(09:35):
staying just beyond that Airbnb place. It wasn't Airbnb. Why
did I say Airbnb? To impress her to say, look,
I'm up to date with things, to distract from the
fact that I was probably ten years her senior, to
fill a space in which i'd otherwise blurt out how
amazingly her dark eyes shone in the pale light, and
(09:58):
how if she smiled at me, I'd stay here forever.
That's good. It'll be dark soon. And some of the
drivers down that road. God, even though it's thirty out front,
they speed past us like they've got a death wish.
There have been several crashes out front. And for years
there was a primary school just down the way. The
building's still there, just back behind the Tudor style empty house.
(10:20):
I noticed that place coming up here, looks like a
lovely old building. More smile, bit of a fixer upper.
She picked up her phone and was either checking for
messages or checking the time. I took another gulp of beer.
I could stay here all night. I could drift away
(10:41):
into fantasies about a dark eyed maiden suitable for a
romantic poem about highwaymen. I wondered if offering to stay
while she shut the place would make her feel more worried.
She was used to it, although I could have another half,
just a sniffer for the road and all that. I
pushed my empty glass over the bar. Maybe one last half,
(11:05):
I said. She glanced behind me, then back at me.
Are you sure? I looked down at my watch. Ah,
unless you want to close up. Sorry, I don't want
to keep you. Oh no, no, it's fine, just checking.
I didn't know what to make of it. Oh, I
wanted to stay. God, I wanted to stay. I'd been
(11:27):
walking for hours. An extra half wouldn't hurt, would it?
One last half? I pointed at one of the other taps,
a green one I hadn't tried before. I should photograph
them and fill them in on my beer tasting app later,
something to do to distract myself before bed, to avoid
thinking about her. Why was she getting into my head
(11:48):
so much? There you go, she said, her hands staying
long enough around the glass that I felt her cool
fingers briefly when I picked it up and joy I
took a sip, and I noticed she was staring at me.
Now the smile had gone, replaced by a sadness. Why
(12:10):
she asked, but not of me yet there was no
one else there. Oh damn it. Why did you have
to ask for another? What? Oh? Sorry? If you'd wanted
to close up, No, no I didn't. But now they
had a chance to see you staring what I'm sorry,
(12:33):
but you're I mean, I didn't mean to. She looked
past my left shoulder and shouted. He was going. You
don't have to keep trying to set me up like this.
You don't have to do these stupid, stupid things. Why
are you such such arseholes? I heard another voice somehow,
if there was no one there, a whining whisper. Is
(12:57):
that any way to talk to your mother? I'm fine alone,
she suddenly shouted, almost making me spill my drink. I'm fine,
and if I'm not fine, I can deal with it. Look.
She leant over the bar, grabbed the back of my neck,
and pulled me forward into a kiss, which I'd only
just got over the shock of when she pushed me
(13:17):
away again. See, oh, I didn't know what to say.
She was staring behind me, so I turned around and
I was still holding my drink when I realized she
was now standing next to me rather than behind the bar.
I hadn't heard her move. They don't let me, you see,
they don't let me choose. I'd have chosen well not
(13:42):
to not to do this exactly. But I like you.
I do you seem nice, I guess. She put her
hands and placed them gently on my upper arms, holding me.
I felt shivers running through me, racing through me. I
looked at those lips again, now talking that I had
been kissed by seconds before. She leaned closer and I
(14:05):
felt her grip tighten. I felt I was falling, but
a lot sideways directly down. They want you to stay
with me for a while, she said, as I realized
I was dropping through the floor. They think I need
a company, and I can't say no to my mother.
(14:27):
It went dark. There was only a smell I recognized,
a chrysanthemum. I love this story for its simplicity. A
guy out for a walk stops into a pub, A
mother who constantly sets up her daughter with dates, and
(14:49):
a young woman's insistence on being independent, but she has
to give in to her mom's wishes. I mean, who doesn't.
It's just such a human story even though it's about God,
and it just might make you think twice about staying
for just one more drink. The kit on Kui has
so many interesting stories from every genre, so please subscribe
(15:11):
to the podcast and check out the substack to see
comments by authors about their inspiration. I also post art
that I like. Although I haven't for a while, I
will this week. I promise any kind of art on
the various social media so pick your poison and follow
me on either Instagram, Facebook, Blue Sky, or substack. All
(15:32):
the information is in the episode description. Thank you so
much for listening today, and I'll see you next week.
Welcome to the Kaido Kai Podcast, where the eerie, the mysterious,
and the spine chilling come alive in stories that linger
long after the last word is spoken. I'm your host
Linda Gould, and tonight I'm reading Closing Time by Robert Kibble.
A man on a walking holiday drops by a pub
(00:31):
in a quiet village after a long day, and he
strikes up a conversation with the barmaid, a barmaid who
has a secret. Robert Kibble lives west of London with
a wife and two cats, and a cornucopia of half
finished writing projects. A few have been published over the years, which,
it has to be admitted, is very pleasing. If only
(00:53):
a less creative day job wouldn't keep getting in the way,
He's sure it would be more. You can find him
at Philosophical Leopard dot com, where you'll find more short stories,
links to his novels, and musings on why zeppelins don't
ply the sky? So now dim the lights, settle in
and prepare yourself for Closing Time by Robert Kibble and enjoy.
(01:23):
It had definitely been almost still was a yellow chrysanthemum
struggling to hold onto the shape and beauty it had
once had, but this was a battle it had already lost.
Propped in a vase by one of the few graves
which had been tended in the decades this graveyard had
been otherwise abandoned, it still stood as proud as it could,
(01:47):
in front of a young woman's gravestone. She had died
in October nineteen eighteen, a month before the end of
the First World War. Tragic time to go. She'd been
a nurse. I suppose they're all tragedies. But someone had
kept this one cleaner than the surrounding graves. Maybe parents
(02:10):
they'd have long since died, maybe a younger sister, or
even nephews or nieces. This was all a distraction, though,
from the important find. The open pub ahead of me,
welcoming seating out front, no obvious other clientele, and probably
(02:31):
not food, So not as good as the pub I'd
been meaning to go to that was shut on Mondays.
I should have noticed on their website. These little out
of the way places often don't open all week, but
I'm used to the big city. It was only on
a whim two weeks back, realizing I had so much
leave yet to take, that I decided on this walking holiday.
(02:55):
My GPS told me I was two miles from my
B and B. Even though I'd go hopelessly lost earlier,
don't know what you'd do without phones. I had some
snacks back in my room, so a beer here and
then a half hour to home, and then, with blessed relief,
to my feet bed first beer, though, as I said important,
(03:21):
I ducked to get through the door and was met
by one of those old world pubs, you know, the
sort of thing with bits of farm machinery stuck to
the walls for no reason, and ancient pewter jugs just
hanging from the ceiling, books on bookshelves that screamed out
they'd been bought by the yard, by those companies who
survived by outfitting old world pubs. Not one could have
(03:44):
been taken down and red in decades. Nice interior, though
in many ways lots of snugs, nooks and crannies, places
which I knew from bitter experience, made being bar staff
in absolute nightmare when people didn't bring their glasses back
to the not an issue tonight, though, as the place
was deserted, only a solitary bar maid tapping away on
(04:08):
her phone. They had barstools, so I went up to
the bar plunked myself on one, to the relief of
my feet, although I did tell them not to get
used to the comforting rest, and nodded to her. What
can I get you, she asked, stepping across the stand
in front of me. Four different beers on tap. Oh,
(04:29):
he's a good sign, but surprising with the place being
empty still it was a monday. I looked through the options. Hmm,
I said, half a landlord. I half meant I could
have a second half of one of the others in
a bit, she smiled. A man could fall for a
(04:50):
smile like that, but bar maids must get that all
the time, so I thought, be the gent I'm on holiday,
probably only coming here once. Don't start getting stupid ideas,
even if you could equally fall into those dark eyes.
Now intently focused on the task in hand, that of
getting me half of Landlord. There you are, she said,
(05:13):
placing it carefully in front of me. No spillage. Another
of my bugbears when it came to serving staff. Thank
you quiet tonight always is early in the week. Only
get busy for the live music nights. Surprised you're open
at all. She turned to get the card machine, her
(05:34):
hair beautifully swishing as she did so, long dark hair, right,
I thought, find something to say, which isn't anything to
the effect of why an attractive young woman is in
a bar in the middle of nowhere on her own
with a single man. Don't say that. I couldn't think
of anything less creepy to say, so I got my
(05:55):
card out and paid, having not listened to how much
the beer even was. The machine pinged. She put it away,
giving me another swosh, enough for me to notice a
small yellow flower tucked into her hair, contrasting with the
dark I'm not normally like this, I should say. Maybe
it was tiredness, but something about her. She turned back
(06:19):
and I looked away, probably too late to avoid it
being obvious I'd been staring. But what else was there
to look at in this otherwise empty building? The farm machinery,
some of those old Sepia pictures that again I suspected
they sold by weight or volume. One of them behind
the bar was clearly this building, though so relevant at least,
(06:41):
But why put a picture of a building inside itself?
It had two middle aged ladies Victorian dresses standing in
front of what looked like a pub, unchanged from how
I saw it. The bar maid followed my gaze. Ah,
she began those two rand this back in the day.
It's them haunt the place what She smiled, as if
(07:03):
what she was saying was the most natural thing in
the world, with a disarming lack of concern, the kind
of concern I feel i'd have, even as a man
being alone in a building I so confidently said was haunted.
What do you mean they haunt this place? She leaned
slightly forward, dropping her voice. Oh, they rattle the plates
(07:24):
in the kitchen. They were doing that earlier this evening,
and people in the toilets have seen them in the
mirror standing behind them. And sometimes when I'm closing up,
a gust of cold, smoky air wafts along the bar,
covering it for a second. I looked up and down
the bar, and then back into those oh so delightful eyes.
(07:46):
What not a great conversation list me, at least not
when distracted by someone this pretty and an insane story
of haunted bar tops? Have you seen them? She laughed? Well,
I half laugh, as if what I was asking wasn't
stupid exactly, but was too obvious to answer. She stood
(08:08):
back up. You get used to them, and you're not
scared here on your own. Oh damnation, I said it, basically,
asking if she was scared of being alone now with
a strange man in her pub heading into the latter
part of the evening, She didn't appear to notice. Instead,
(08:29):
she looked around the room. I sometimes FaceTime one of
the other staff when I'm closing up, chat to them,
someone to keep me company. It was still alone. I
was oddly feeling protective of her. Now, Well, how late
do you stay open? I've been thinking of shutting up
if you hadn't arrived. She put up a hand as
(08:50):
if to say, stop. Oh, don't worry, it's fine. Nothing
else to do tonight. So if you want another or anything,
don't feel you have to stop. I'd finish my half already,
so I asked her for half of a local brewery.
Hunter is something weird lettering, which made it very hard
to read in the dim light. Had it been that
dim when I got in, maybe just the sun going down.
(09:14):
We went through the dance of pouring and paying again,
and this time she opened the conversation. I didn't notice
a car, did you walk yeah, walking holiday, far to go,
only a couple of miles GPS says, right out of here,
then left along past some kid's farm place. And I'm
(09:35):
staying just beyond that Airbnb place. It wasn't Airbnb. Why
did I say Airbnb? To impress her to say, look,
I'm up to date with things, to distract from the
fact that I was probably ten years her senior, to
fill a space in which i'd otherwise blurt out how
amazingly her dark eyes shone in the pale light, and
(09:58):
how if she smiled at me, I'd stay here forever.
That's good. It'll be dark soon. And some of the
drivers down that road. God, even though it's thirty out front,
they speed past us like they've got a death wish.
There have been several crashes out front. And for years
there was a primary school just down the way. The
building's still there, just back behind the Tudor style empty house.
(10:20):
I noticed that place coming up here, looks like a
lovely old building. More smile, bit of a fixer upper.
She picked up her phone and was either checking for
messages or checking the time. I took another gulp of beer.
I could stay here all night. I could drift away
(10:41):
into fantasies about a dark eyed maiden suitable for a
romantic poem about highwaymen. I wondered if offering to stay
while she shut the place would make her feel more worried.
She was used to it, although I could have another half,
just a sniffer for the road and all that. I
pushed my empty glass over the bar. Maybe one last half,
(11:05):
I said. She glanced behind me, then back at me.
Are you sure? I looked down at my watch. Ah,
unless you want to close up. Sorry, I don't want
to keep you. Oh no, no, it's fine, just checking.
I didn't know what to make of it. Oh, I
wanted to stay. God, I wanted to stay. I'd been
(11:27):
walking for hours. An extra half wouldn't hurt, would it?
One last half? I pointed at one of the other taps,
a green one I hadn't tried before. I should photograph
them and fill them in on my beer tasting app later,
something to do to distract myself before bed, to avoid
thinking about her. Why was she getting into my head
(11:48):
so much? There you go, she said, her hands staying
long enough around the glass that I felt her cool
fingers briefly when I picked it up and joy I
took a sip, and I noticed she was staring at me.
Now the smile had gone, replaced by a sadness. Why
(12:10):
she asked, but not of me yet there was no
one else there. Oh damn it. Why did you have
to ask for another? What? Oh? Sorry? If you'd wanted
to close up, No, no I didn't. But now they
had a chance to see you staring what I'm sorry,
(12:33):
but you're I mean, I didn't mean to. She looked
past my left shoulder and shouted. He was going. You
don't have to keep trying to set me up like this.
You don't have to do these stupid, stupid things. Why
are you such such arseholes? I heard another voice somehow,
if there was no one there, a whining whisper. Is
(12:57):
that any way to talk to your mother? I'm fine alone,
she suddenly shouted, almost making me spill my drink. I'm fine,
and if I'm not fine, I can deal with it. Look.
She leant over the bar, grabbed the back of my neck,
and pulled me forward into a kiss, which I'd only
just got over the shock of when she pushed me
(13:17):
away again. See, oh, I didn't know what to say.
She was staring behind me, so I turned around and
I was still holding my drink when I realized she
was now standing next to me rather than behind the bar.
I hadn't heard her move. They don't let me, you see,
they don't let me choose. I'd have chosen well not
(13:42):
to not to do this exactly. But I like you.
I do you seem nice, I guess. She put her
hands and placed them gently on my upper arms, holding me.
I felt shivers running through me, racing through me. I
looked at those lips again, now talking that I had
been kissed by seconds before. She leaned closer and I
(14:05):
felt her grip tighten. I felt I was falling, but
a lot sideways directly down. They want you to stay
with me for a while, she said, as I realized
I was dropping through the floor. They think I need
a company, and I can't say no to my mother.
(14:27):
It went dark. There was only a smell I recognized,
a chrysanthemum. I love this story for its simplicity. A
guy out for a walk stops into a pub, A
mother who constantly sets up her daughter with dates, and
(14:49):
a young woman's insistence on being independent, but she has
to give in to her mom's wishes. I mean, who doesn't.
It's just such a human story even though it's about God,
and it just might make you think twice about staying
for just one more drink. The kit on Kui has
so many interesting stories from every genre, so please subscribe
(15:11):
to the podcast and check out the substack to see
comments by authors about their inspiration. I also post art
that I like. Although I haven't for a while, I
will this week. I promise any kind of art on
the various social media so pick your poison and follow
me on either Instagram, Facebook, Blue Sky, or substack. All
(15:32):
the information is in the episode description. Thank you so
much for listening today, and I'll see you next week.
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My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark
My Favorite Murder is a true crime comedy podcast hosted by Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark. Each week, Karen and Georgia share compelling true crimes and hometown stories from friends and listeners. Since MFM launched in January of 2016, Karen and Georgia have shared their lifelong interest in true crime and have covered stories of infamous serial killers like the Night Stalker, mysterious cold cases, captivating cults, incredible survivor stories and important events from history like the Tulsa race massacre of 1921. My Favorite Murder is part of the Exactly Right podcast network that provides a platform for bold, creative voices to bring to life provocative, entertaining and relatable stories for audiences everywhere. The Exactly Right roster of podcasts covers a variety of topics including historic true crime, comedic interviews and news, science, pop culture and more. Podcasts on the network include Buried Bones with Kate Winkler Dawson and Paul Holes, That's Messed Up: An SVU Podcast, This Podcast Will Kill You, Bananas and more.
The Joe Rogan Experience
The official podcast of comedian Joe Rogan.