"You did it, Henry," Stevey proclaimed when Henry made his way down the stairs.

Both Stevey and Wendy were waiting for him in front of the golden altar. Stevey had a wide smile across his face. Wendy looked surprised more than anything.

"I'm going to be honest; I didn't think you had it in you. I think most of the others died in their first real fight with a Ghost story. I was wrong to bet against you," Wendy said.

"I'll expect my payment soon, Wendy. I'm telling you Henry here is a natural-born killer."

"Wendy almost won her bet. That bastard had me by my leg," Henry said when he joined them.

He pulled up his scorched pant leg to reveal a nasty burn. It was red and covered in blisters. It was surprisingly painful. It's easy to underestimate the sheer pain of even a small, severe burn.

"Well, that's going to scar. Not much we can do to heal that anytime soon, unless you want to take a swan dive off the roof," Stevey commented.

"I think I'll pass on that."

"There's one thing we can do, Stevey," Wendy said.

"What's that?"

"Take him to the Burning Knight. Get a few drinks in him."

"That, Wendy," Stevey proclaimed, "might be the best idea you've ever had."

***

Ten minutes later, Henry found himself in front of an old pub. A crooked sign hung out over the street that read: The Burning Kight. Below the words, there was a drawing of a knight hopping up and down with flames around him. Henry guessed the artist hadn't had the pleasure of meeting the Knight personally.

"Don't worry about the crowds," Stevey said, "I rented the whole place out just for us. It wasn't cheap, either. I had to pull a few strings."

He laughed and then held open the door for Henry. The inside of the pub was unbelievably cozy. Strange knick-knacks and sports memorabilia hung on the walls. A large stone fireplace was nestled against one of the walls. A single round shield hung over the mantle. It was identical to the one Henry was carrying, minus a large scorch mark.

Stevey made his way to the bar. He hopped over the counter and went into the back room. Both Henry and Wendy took seats at the bar.

A few moments later, Stevey carried out a platter of sandwiches. He set it down on the bar.

"Alright, the quickest meal I could pull together. Sliced corned beef and cheese sandwiches. Dig in."

Henry picked up one of the sandwich slices and took a bite. It was dry and had a strange aftertaste. In short, it was pretty gross. Stevey was looking at him excitedly with an eager expression. He looked almost like a puppy. Henry didn't have the heart to tell him the truth.

"It's great," Henry said, lying through his teeth.

"Finally! Someone who gets it. It's about time British food got a little respect around here."

"He's lying to you. This tastes terrible," Wendy said.

Stevey snatched the sandwich away from her.

"Then you don't get any."

"Fine by me. Let's pour some drinks."

Her mouth was drooling as she looked at the beer taps.

"Wendy, I shouldn't even be giving you drinks. You're almost 17. Under the legal drinking age," Stevey said.

"Not in Germany! It's sixteen there. I read that in a book."

Stevey laughed.

"Relax, Wendy; I'm just messing with you. No policeman here, right?"

He slid her a pint of beer, and she snatched it up eagerly. Next, he poured Henry one and handed it to him.

"Drink up, mate. You earned it."

Henry took a large gulp of beer. Unlike the sandwich, the beer was delicious.

"What about the grocery run?"

"Don't worry about it. We'll have a quick drink and then get the stuff. There's no Ghost Story here thanks to you, so there's no rush."

***

An hour later, Henry began to glup down his fourth pint. This particular beer was sweet and had just the right balance of flavor. It was damn good. By the third pint, he had been drunk. Now, with the fourth, he was really drunk. Wendy and Stevey didn't seem to be faring much better. She was on her sixth pint. Henry was amazed that she was still upright. Maybe Ghost Stories had a higher tolerance.

"I think I could live here. Having a bar like this makes being stuck in this place for eternity somewhat bearable," Henry mused.

"We aren't going to be stuck here forever. I know the others probably told you there's no way out of here. But that's horseshit. I will get out of here."

Henry gave him a quizzical look. It was just like Chelsey had said. Stevey was the only one who still thought there was a way out.

"I can tell you don't believe it. Every time I look at that wall, I become more sure of it. The others all have their theories about what the point of all this is. I have mine too. I think this place is a challenge. And I think we're supposed to overcome it. If you climbed over that wall and looked out over the other side, I bet you'd see freedom."

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"You think?" Henry asked.

"I do. And I have evidence."

He hiccuped and leaned back in his chair.

"Here we go. You got him drunk, and now he's talking crazy," Wendy said.

"Not crazy, Wendy. Think about it. What happens when we try to touch that wall?"

"The Ghost Stories go berserk. I go berserk and kill you all." She answered.

"Exactly! You come right to where we are. Even if they've been killed already, the Ghost Stories still come. That's the challenge we have to overcome to make it up the wall. We have to face each of the Ghost Stories all at once. The wall is meant to be climbed. You can see it in the way it’s sloped and stacked like blocks."

"You're not right, Stevey. When you guys touch the wall, my mind is filled with the Dickhead's voice. I mean, I guess the voice is always there, whispering that I should kill you, but when you touch that wall, it changes. It becomes more frantic and desperate, impossible to ignore. It wants us to stop you from escaping."

"Or the Dickhead wants to up the challenge. If it makes the Ghost Stories desperate to stop us, it makes us have to fight harder to stop them."

"I'm not going to change your mind, am I?"

"I have to get out of here, Wendy. So no, I refuse to believe there's no way out. Why put us here for no reason? This place has a purpose; I'm sure of it."

"Why do you want to leave so badly?" Wendy asked, "I mean, this place isn't so bad. You have me here to talk to. The others are your friends. You're immortal here. You could literally live forever. Humans want that, right?"

"Some of them, maybe. Not me. You know… all I ever wanted before I came here was to be a comedian. I grew up watching all the greats on TV. Dave Allen, Frank Goodkind, Morecambe and Wise. Those guys were funny."

"I haven't heard of them," Henry said.

"They're probably dead by now… Those funny men on TV probably saved my life. I had a bad childhood, you know. My real prick of a dad used to hit my mom and me, so she left. Which left me with him… but those funny guys on TV made me happy. No matter how rubbish my day was, no matter how hard he hit me, I could turn on the TV and laugh. Without that, I don't know; I might have done something daft. I realized then what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to be like them. I wanted to make people laugh, but really, I just wanted to make people happy."

"It's a noble goal," Henry said.

"Yeah, it was. It didn't work out, though. Sometimes that just happens. I got a better goal now."

"What's that?" Wendy asked.

"I had a girl on the outside. Sarah… I dated her for seven years. She was the love of my life, as cliche as that is. The night I got taken, I said some things to her… Bad things. I regret it. The way I left things just doesn't sit right with me. So I have to apologize to her. I owe her that much. She's probably moved on by now. Bloody hell, I hope she's moved on. It's been 20 years. I just hope she found someone nice and that she's happy. It wouldn't change things if she had. I'd still want to see her one last time."

"You never told me about her," Wendy said.

There were tears in her eyes. Henry wondered why Stevey's story had affected her like that. Sure, it was sad, but not really a tearjerker. Not to Henry, at least. Maybe it was the alcohol talking for her.

"I don't like to talk about her. More of a reminder of what I've lost… Changing the subject, what about you, Henry? I've talked your ears off, and you barely got a word in. What are you after? Tell me. We've all got something we want."

Henry thought about it for a moment. He'd had a goal for himself before he came here, but now... Henry was not sure what he was after.

"My dream was to get out of Kinsville, Texas... So, I guess I'm living mine."

"Now that's a joke only this place could tell," Stevey croaked through laughter, then added, "But you gotta have something else. What did you want to do when you left?"

"If I am being really honest," Henry said with a sigh, "the truth is, I always just wanted to do something to be remembered. Every day I woke up knowing that if I died, people would forget about me within a year, maybe even sooner. I'd be another name on a lonely tombstone in a forgotten cemetery. Just a person lost to time. That idea always terrified me. Once I started thinking like that, I realized I'd done nothing worth noting my whole life. No accomplishment I could be proud of. I was nothing. So I guess I just want to do something to be remembered. I want to be someone, you know."

Wendy stirred from her stool at the bar. The alcohol seemed to have hit her all at once. She was swaying her chair now.

"I think I get how you feel," Wendy said drunkenly, "I'm not even real. I think about that sometimes. What does that even mean? Do I even exist? I don't know... You don't have to worry about it; I'm not going to forget you, Henry. I doubt Stevey would forget you. Plus, here you'll never die, so there's nothing to worry about."

Stevey gave Wendy a puzzled look, then turned his attention back to Henry.

"Honestly, mate, you killed a burning knight straight from hell today. That's pretty fucking notable if you ask me."

Henry thought about it. Stevey was right. It was pretty notable. How many of his old high school friends could say they'd killed an undead monster from a story? The answer was none, of course. None of Henry's classmates had received the distinct displeasure of visiting Paradise.

"I guess you're right. Honestly, I think all this might be the beer talking," Henry admitted.

"Are you feeling it?" Stevey asked.

"Yeah, I think I had too much. I don't think I've been this drunk since high school."

"I don't think I've ever been this drunk," Wendy said.

"Wait a second... I have to pee. You guys hold down the fort." Stevey said as he stood from the bar. He drunkenly wandered towards the back of the pub. Henry took another bite of the corned beef sandwich and reluctantly swallowed it. It was gross. He finally understood why the others hated British nights. He turned to look at Wendy.

"So can I get in on your little scheme?" Henry asked.

"You're going to have to be more specific. I'm running a lot of schemes." She answered.

"The food cans you took from the camp zone. I want in because this stuff is nasty."

"I haven't taken cans."

"We saw your footprints. There were cans missing from the cupboard. Chelsey said you must have done it to avoid British night."

Wendy shook her head.

"No, I didn't take cans. I think I'd remember that. It's a good idea, though. Great way to get out of British night. I'm totally going to do that now."

"So it's going to be like that, huh?" Henry asked with a bit of mock hurt in his voice.

Wendy shrugged.

"I guess so." She said.

Apparently, her secret food supplies were a closely guarded secret. Sooner or later, Henry was going to figure out where she was keeping them.

Wendy slumped her head down and rested it on the bar, ending their conversation. Shortly after, Stevey stumbled back to the bar and took a seat.

"I think I'm going to have another round. Who's with me?" He declared.

Wendy, who was now face-down at the bar, held her hand up.

"I'll pass. I think I'm going to throw up," Henry said.

"Well, if you do, do it in the alley."

Henry gave a half-hearted thumbs up.

***

After Stevey and Wendy finished their last round of drinks, the three of them stumbled into the alley as they prepared to head home. They had completely forgotten that they were supposed to be on a grocery run. Wendy was completely unconscious. She was leaning against Henry for support, who was barely able to keep himself upright. The world was a dizzy blur in front of him. Stevey stumbled out in front of them and then leaned against the wall for support.

He took another step forward and tripped over nothing. Stevey fell forward, and the sound of jingling metal filled the air. Henry focused on trying to find the source of the sound. He noticed a small wire running across the ground. It led to a cluster of cans tied together with string. They were empty cans of chicken soup and chili. The exact same cans that Wendy had taken from the camp zone.

A sudden, horrifying thought came across his mind. Wendy said she hadn't taken them, and now they were here on a tripwire. It was a noise-maker. What if it hadn't been Wendy? Who else could have taken them? In his drunken state, the realization came just too late. A deafeningly loud crack filled the air. Then Wendy's head exploded.