He looked at the valley below from a perch high in the observation tower on the mountain top and smiled grimly. What a bunch of fools he thought while nibbling on a still hot crunchy craterburger.
There are worse jobs than mine Jax reassured himself while sipping on a sonic soda through his second mouth. It was boring watching these stupid humans in a constant state of warfare since they emerged from caves and built cities to lay siege to. At first it was amusing watching humans chase and kill large animals that often killed their pursuers in the primordial landscapes seething with dangerous creatures. But as the centuries crawled by Jax’s amusement turned to disgust as so-called civilizations slaughtered each other in an eternal quest for absolute power.
“I could have ended up as a prison guard on Neptune or Saturn,” Jax said out loud, once again praising his decision to be an Observer for a planet – in this case Earth. A prison job would have been like living in an eternal hell.
If it wasn’t for his exceptionally high-test scores Jax would have been drafted into the Space Core Fleet and doomed to endless battles with other world’s war fleets. It was as bad as the stupid humans but intensified times ten with the deadly technology being used among the intergalactic adversaries. Not me he told himself when he applied for the relatively safe position of an Observer at the Royal Court in Mars’ capitol city of Helicum.
Jax’s brain ceased dredging up memories when his attention was drawn to a massive explosion and flash of light that turned the sky white. He quickly touched a button on the side of his helmet that shielded his eyes while automatically sealing his whole body in a protective bubble. The air shook with a thunderous roar that spiraled high into the sky knocking birds senseless and blinding any creatures below within eyesight of the explosion. The earth shuddered and wept poisonous gas into the atmosphere. Jax gulped. His craterburger hit like lead in his gut and he felt like he was going to throw it up. What had happened? What did those fool humans unleash now? Anger crawled up his scaly neck that turned a vivid red hue as he considered the implications. His suddenly safe job was suddenly looking shaky!
Back at the Royal Court in Mars.
“So,” the King asked his prime minister, “Did you know that earth was scheduled to be obliterated this week?”
The prime minister slyly smirked. He always hated and envied Jax and when the opportunity arose for revenge, he used his position of power to assign him to earth whose last day (he knew) was fast approaching. But he couldn’t tell the king that. Unbeknown to the sneaky prime minister however the king was aware of his hatred of Jax (his nephew) and strongly suspected he set him up. That was the reason the king had sent Jax the protective bubble helmet (normally only for combat personnel) when he heard about his new assignment. It was time the king decided, to teach the prime minister a lesson.
“No! No! Your majesty! By the time I discovered earth’s fate it was too late!
“Is that so?” the king asked. “Well then I’ll go ahead and give you a promotion that you well deserve.”
“Thank you sire!” the weasel-faced prime minister blurted out.
“Effective tomorrow you are going to have the privilege of securing an off-planet position as a rotating prison riot guard between Neptune and Saturn,” declared the king with a big open smile.
Nestled in the in Pennsylvania’s southern section of the Blue Ridge Mountains in 1923 was a little town called Johnsonville which had a pastor who distilled the best moonshine in five counties.
Some say the parishioners who attended his Church of God were regular alcoholics who would have their sins absolved every Sunday by the benevolent man of God who called himself the high priest Elijah the Saved. Two-thirds of the town’s residents of 600 people were regular church goers. The halleluiahs rang every Sunday from the church’s roof top with enthusiasm while the towns other third of the population hunkered down and whispered dark rumors about Elijah having a still. It didn’t seem right to them.
There were two important ingredients essential to making Elijah’s whiskey. One was water. In this part of Pennsylvania that was rich with limestone the water was clean and free of impurities that can alter the taste. The other ingredient was a secret known only to Elijah. His still was located just outside the town limits and was on the forest’s edge. A river ran through the forest for miles providing the required water for his spirits.
One of Elijah’s favorite sermons, repeated every few weeks, was about the holy spirit. It would be helpful to point out that what Elijah preached was far from most known religions. The attendees were Holy Rollers, Snake handlers, and talked in tongues. All distrusted the government and any strangers that came to town. Not that there were that many.
One day a young man with bright red hair came to Johnsonville from another county nearby. He had heard about the preacher’s exceptional moonshine and wanted to taste it and perhaps steal his recipe. He arrived on a Sunday and attended the church service from the back of the room where he could discreetly study the preacher and his followers. Friends and relatives advised him to stay away from there because the town had a murky reputation of outsiders disappearing from there. After the service he approached Elijah and praised his message.
“Would you like to join us at the community center? We serve a lunch blessed by my holy spirits that will save you from eternal damnation.”
“Thank you!” the young man said politely.
The first sip took the young man’s breath away and he struggled to remain calm. He never tasted moonshine like this before. There was a hint of some ingredient he couldn’t identify, and it bothered him. He came from a long line of moonshiners and prided himself on his knowledge of spirits and how to make them palatable. He hardly noticed the simple fare of ribs, beans, potatoes, and thick slices of homemade bread. Afterwards he thanked Elijah and asked him where he might find a place to stay overnight and possibly for a few days.
Elijah’s piercing blue eyes seemed to light up for a moment and then he smiled. “There’s a little room in the back of the church with a bed in it. You can stay there if you like,” he offered.
The next morning the young man found a tiny restaurant in the center of town. While he ate his fried eggs, thick slices of ham, and still warm bread, he thought about where he might find the preacher’s still. It didn’t take him long after that before he discovered the still on the outskirts of town concealed among trees and bushes. It wasn’t that hard to find which made him think that no one ever bothered the preacher’s still. Not even government men. It was just too easy to find which oddly troubled him. As he looked at the setup, he noticed an extremely large condenser and copper distiller. There were a couple of other oddities that made him wonder just what was being distilled there. Before he could inspect the layout any further, he heard footsteps and quickly concealed himself among some nearby thick bushes.
The high priest known as Elijah the Saved came into the little clearing and went right up to the copper condenser. Kneeling he used a hook to pull out a pan from the bottom and began pulling bones out carefully and putting them in a gunnysack. When the young man saw the skull, his heartbeat instantly increased. His secret ingredient was humans! As the horror dawned on him, he panicked and bolted out from the bushes heading deep into the forest’s bowels.
Folks from Ginnery County, where the young man was from, thought he’d gone crazy. He told his story to anyone who’d listen, but no one paid him any heed. A preacher making moonshine out of human bodies? They were sure he had alcohol poisoning or simply slipped a cog when running into a tree or something.
The next Sunday service in Johnsonville.
“The holy spirit comes to us in wonderous ways my flock. Sinners can be saved here in Johnsonville by sipping spirits and forgiving them their trespasses.”
Bodie Stark urged the black stallion on to greater speed as the red demons closed in and he could hear their guttural screeching shredding the brisk night air.
He looked back once and saw the three nightriders whose skeletal skulls were beaming with an eerie light that made their feathers glow beneath the full moon. Their eagerness to catch him was palpable as they screamed curses and lashed their hell-seed stallions on to greater speeds. Suddenly Stark came to a dead end – a cliff. He turned to face his tormentors and drew his Bowie knife from its leather sheath for the final confrontation. Then he was tumbling into a dark ravine before he knew what happened. The darkness closed in…
Stark woke, like so many other times recently, shouting “Stop!” The nightmare was getting worse in the last two weeks and his nerves were frayed to the point of breaking and going insane. Opening his eyes cautiously he looked around the bleak room. A nightstand and a table with two chairs completed the scene. The wooden single bed he was on was covered with two gray horse blankets. He lay on top of the blankets trying to blink the nightmare away in the light of the day streaming through a single window’s glass panes. His thoughts drifted back to a month ago when he and his three comrades discovered the gold mine. Stark, being the most experienced woodsman among the group was following the river when he started spotting some gold nuggets that grew in size and quantity as he worked upriver. His partners got more excited the further they went until they came to a waterfall where two large gold veins were exposed beneath the cascading falls. The four men danced for joy. They had found what surely was going to be a massive gold payload.
The first day they camped in a clearing near the waterfall and celebrated their fantastic find. The whiskey bottle was passed around until the four men emptied it and passed out on the ground in the large tent, they’d put up the day before. No one stayed up to watch for unexpected visitors. It was a careless thing to do out in the wild and in the middle of the Appalachians in 1888. But their luck held, and their sleep was undisturbed. That morning, they had some black coffee and hard tack with strips of cured venison. As they ate, they agreed to split up into two-man teams and scout around the area before coming back and panning for gold in the crystal-clear waters of the river. Stark and the youngest man, William, went up stream while the other two men, John and Henry, circled around the site east to west looking for signs of humans. In particular for signs of the Cherokee people whose land they were trespassing on.
What needs to be said is that four explorers weren’t paragons of virtue and they were all greedy men with little or no consciences. They were rough and hearty men of their time surviving the wilderness for years on their strength and cunning. Each man had different ideas about what to do with his unexpected wealth. The only thing they were unified in was agreeing not to tell anybody about the location and sticking together until they got back to civilization. After that it got a little vague.
After scouting around Henry and John were heading back to camp when they heard a bird call. Then another from another location in answer. When the Cherokee war party burst through the forest in the waning light they fell upon the two unfortunates and promptly killed them and took their scalps. Stark and William had made it back to camp and were building a fire as the sun went down. They both knew it wasn’t a good sign that their partners weren’t back yet. The two men sat back-to-back near the campfire clutching their Winchester rifles and wondering when the attack would come. The night hours drug on as they both fought exhaustion to stay awake fearing for their lives. Stark should have known better. Most Cherokee bands didn’t like to fight at night unlike the Comanche who traditionally raided Mexico during the full moon so they could see at night. Just before daybreak the men gathered their processions and saddled up their horses. They lingered for a couple of hours and panned for gold, both quickly filling up little leather sacks of nuggets and stashing them in their saddlebags. They didn’t bother making coffee and satisfied themselves with water and some venison jerky while they rode back to the little mining town they had left from days ago. Both were lost in their thoughts when the arrows came! One struck Stark in his right shoulder. Then William suddenly looked like a porcupine as several arrows pierced his chest. His body collapsed and fell off his horse awkwardly. Meanwhile Stark recovered enough to pull out his Winchester and start firing point blank at his pursuers. Two immediately tumbled off their horses and the third managed to stay on his horse for a hundred yards before falling off with a bullet in his heart. Stark didn’t linger. He drove his horse hard as he left the chaos behind him. When he got to town, he found the doctor in the second saloon he searched and convinced him to tend to the wound. He’d broken the arrow off, and the stub burned like hell.
Stark took another swig from the near empty whiskey bottle in his hotel room and wondered how he could make the nightmare go away. He pulled the two leather pouches out of his jacket which hung on a hook on the door. He slowly walked over to the table and pulled a chair back and sat down. He placed the bags of little gold nuggets the size of human teeth before him and stared at them as if seeking an answer to his problem. He hadn’t shown anyone his gold since coming back to town. After considering everything he decided the gold was haunted and if he didn’t return it to the river, he’d never have any peace. It was a crazy idea, but he was desperate. Having to live through that death race every night was just too much to bear. He was tired but set out for the golden waterfall hoping for an end to the misery his nights had become.
When Stark was knee deep in the crystal-clear waters of the river he emptied the contents out of each pouch. He watched as the gold nuggets joined the others on the riverbed and took a deep sigh. He knew the nightmares would end now. And he was right. The next day some Cherokee warriors came upon Stark asleep and promptly brained him.
The village folk all knew Juniorsky was special. It wasn’t because he looked like a stork with his long neck and pointy face. It wasn’t because his eyes often looked dull and vacant and that he drooled constantly.
It was because Juniorsky could tell the future.
You may laugh and scoff at this wild claim but allow me to relate what I’ve seen with my own two eyes. There’s a village in the Carpathian Mountains in the Czech Republic whose residents both fear and adore a young man named Juniorsky.
In the course of my travels, I recently came upon a rural little village (which I later learned was called Kyselka) and I met a rather peculiar fellow who the residents called Juniorsky. I was sitting in a quiet hospoda having a warm pint of Pilsner Urquell served up with beef broth and goulash when a man sat down across the table from me with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. At first, I tried to ignore his rude behavior and took a healthy swig of beer. But when I sat my mug down, he was still there…noticeably drooling out of the right corner of his thin mouth.
“Well now chap! What can I do for you?” I politely asked.
His dull eyes seemed to light up and he quickly pointed at my beer.
“Pivo!” he excitedly exclaimed while wiping away his drool with his dirty sleeve.
“Very good. Servirka!” I called out testing my rudimentary knowledge of the Czech language.
When the waitress appeared she immediately nodded towards Juniorsky and clasped her hands together in a praying position. There was a look of awe on her face that puzzled me. I knew something was odd as I ordered a beer for my uninvited guest. When she returned, I asked if she knew the man across the table from me, and if so, would she be so kind as to formally introduce him to me? She smiled and said his name was Juniorsky and then skittered off toward the bar giggling along the way.
I couldn’t help feeling like I was the butt of some private joke, and it made me uncomfortable. We sat in silence. Me, eating and drinking. He, drinking and drooling. This went on for nearly two hours. I ordered two refills for him during that time. Finally, I decided to call it a night as he wasn’t much of a conversationalist, and it was nearly midnight. Standing up I put my hat on and my great coat that was draped over the back of my chair. I wished Juniorsky well and started for the door…
“Wait!“
The high-pitched voice came from Juniorsky who had stood up and awkwardly shuffled up to me. He was the most animated since he sat down and wanted a beer. His screechy voice both fascinated and disgusted me for some odd reason. I felt a little dizzy but attributed that to the beers I drank.
“Do you want to know your future?
I was stunned by the question that just came up out of thin air. What was happening? Was I being teased? Were the villagers all laughing about the stupid stranger? Was this all a game? Juniorsky was no seer. He looked more like the village idiot than someone who could forecast the future. Despite that I decided to call his bluff.
“Sure,” I said with a tinge of mockery.
Ignoring the steady stream of drool that turned to spittle when he spoke Juniorsky said, “Follow me.“
The full moon shone on the ancient cobblestone street as I warily followed him down an alley that dead-ended with a ramshackle two-story house in such a state of disrepair it didn’t look inhabitants lived there. One of the steps leading up to the front door was partially missing presenting a hazard to the unwary visitor. Juniorsky nimbly trod on one side and bounded up to the porch. A rickety rocking chair feebly vibrated with each step on the landing as I approached. I slowly sensed something ominous about the house. I wondered if it was haunted. I never discounted stories about ghosts, but I had never seen one. The front door was unlocked as Juniorsky swept it open and plunged into the dark interior. He reappeared moments later holding an oil lamp that threw shadows that danced across the living room as I entered. There was a small wooden table with two chairs in the center of the room. Juniorsky gestured to sit down as he joined me. His whole demeanor had changed. The drooling had ceased. His eyes were now a bright brown, and I could sense a hidden intelligence behind them.
“Do you want to know what your near future holds?” he asked me again in a deeper voice than before.
My skepticism had drained away and I felt awe as I replied that I really did want to know my future with no sense of mockery now. He studied me briefly as if sizing up how serious I was.
“Somewhere in this house there’s a secret room that will provide you a glimpse of your near future. You have until daylight to discover this room before losing your opportunity to see the future. Not everyone is successful. I wish you well.“
He stood up (straighter than before) and walked out the front door. I looked at my watch. I had about four hours until daylight. Not wasting any time, I headed up the large staircase to the second floor. The odor of mold and rat droppings forced me to pull out my handkerchief and wrap it around my nose and mouth. Holding up the oil lamp that Juniorsky left I looked down the long hall and counted four rooms. None of them were locked and they were all empty. One had a broken window that let the night breeze in past tattered curtains. Getting concerned I went back downstairs and checked out the ground floor for a secret door. The time was running out. In less than an hour any hope I had to see my future would be gone. Frantically I started tapping the walls looking for a hidden room. Then I found it. As the wall slid open on silent rollers I peeked inside. In the center of the room there was what appeared to be a dentist’s chair with two headphones on the seat. Across from the chair there was a large white screen. A sheet perhaps. I allowed my instinct to take over and put on the headphones settling down in the reclining seat. After carefully pulling them on two things happened simultaneously; a picture appeared on the screen and there was sound.
The car I drove to Kyselka in, an Avia, appeared on screen and I could see myself driving down the twisting one-lane highway that led to the village. My car was suddenly picking up speed as I pumped the brakes that had completely given out! I managed to keep the car on the road for a couple of moments before it sailed off the road and down the cliff!”
“No!” I screamed out loud as the first rays of the day filtered into the once dark room. It was so real, I knew it had to be true. Before even eating breakfast, I visited the village mechanic and asked if he would check the brakes on my car that was parked outside the only hotel in Kyselka. I went inside and ordered two poached eggs and a cup of tea while I awaited the verdict. It wasn’t long in coming. The mechanic informed me that my brake pads in the front were very thin and one looked like it was metal on metal. I thanked him and arranged for him to fix them. I safely drove back to the airport (where I rented the Avia) and flew home.
You may think I’m just crazy, and this story is a stupid fantasy from a fertile imagination with nothing better to do. Not so. If you ever get a chance to visit Kyselka be sure to buy Juniorsky a beer. You won’t regret it.
Bob “Scoop” Nelson was an internationally known investigative reporter with the reputation for getting interviews others couldn’t get. He’d been around the globe a few times in his 21-year career and wasn’t easily impressed by his famous subjects. But he had to admit getting Jesus Christ to sit down for an interview was the pinnacle of his career.
Scoop was nervous, curious, and excitedat the opportunity. He had a slew of questions written down in his reporter pad in case he was too overawed to come up with spontaneous questions.He acknowledged the meeting would be a miracle despite not being a religious man. He thought to himself that it was about time Jesus came back. If there was ever a time humanity needed him most, it was the 21st century.
Talk of theApocalypseis rampant across the earthand for good reason. Mankind now has the ability to obliterate all life on the planet thanks to nuclear bombs.Hot wars are raging on all the continents and the climate crisis gets worse yearly.Scoop was trying to decide where to begin the interview when Jesus spoke, “Peace be upon you Scoop,”and smiled across the table separating them.The room was empty of all distractions with only one window looking out at the picturesque countryside.It was Scoops hideaway on an unnamed island that he retreated to whenever he wanted to get away from so-called civilization.
SCOOP – “Thanks for this chance to interview you oh Son of God.“
JESUS – “You don’t have to be so formal. Just call me Jesus. What would you like to know my son?“
SCOOP – (Forgetting to look at his notes) “Who’s going to win the World Series? No…no… I’m just kidding. Trying to lighten the moment it’s not every day I come into a holy presence such as yourself.“
JESUS – “The Yankees!“
SCOOP – “What the…?“
Jesus – “Just joking. It’s not every day I talk with a Yankee fan.“
SCOOP – (Picking up his reporter pad) “Okay then.When will the final end come for all humanity?“
JESUS – “Have you got a watch?“
SCOOP – “Oh no!“
JESUS – “Relax! Just joking with you again. Touchy. Touchy. My boss doesn’t allow me to give an exact time, or date, when the final reckoning will come. He just wants everyone to repent right now and be ready for the big day.“
SCOOP – “Gee… I’m not sure if my heart can take too many more jokes like that. Okay then.I’m an American. My question is simple. Is Donald J. Trump the spawn of the Devil, or the Devil himself?“
JESUS – “In the Bible I warned of false prophets. Trump is a cult leader, aka a false prophet, and a threat to your republic and the whole world.That’s the reason why I’m here with you today. The Big Guy and I decided to bless your efforts at educating Americans and the rest of the world about the cataclysmic consequences of letting Trump get re-elected. president.“
Scoop put his reporter pad down on the bare table and bowed his head. For once he was speechless. He suddenly had a new mission in life. A new, and more noble purpose than making money and living like a hermit.When he looked up Jesus was gone and there was a piece of paper lying in the center of the table.
“Actually, I wasn’t joking. The Yankees do win it all this season!”
Abasi watched the hunter chasing a gorilla with serious eyes.
The sun was retreating back to its home in the heavens causing fantastical shadows in the deep green forestas Abasi watched the hunter fire a shot at a silverback gorillabarreling through the thick underbrush.
A loud crack was followed by the sound of the gorilla’s roar of defiance in the distance. The bullet missed. The gorilla disappeared into the growing night. Abasi studied the hunter’s features from his hiding place to see his reaction to the gorilla’s challenge. None. He ejected the empty shell and held his rifle loosely against across his chest in a port arms position and listened to the sounds of the night.
Abasi estimated the hunter was about five feet, six inches tall, and weighed all of 135 pounds dripping wet. Not exactly a big game hunter he chuckled to himself. Getting serious (his name meant serious) he wondered what drew the hunter to this mangrove forest where hunting was forbidden and the trees critically endangered due to habitat loss?He strained his brain trying to recall the last time a hunter came through his land.He thoughts came back to the present when the hunter set out again, clumsily working his way through some ferns heading south towards the Congo Basin.
Staying behind the hunter, Abasi gently pushed Monkey Brush Vines aside as he cautiously followed him. He paused in a patch of Passion flowers when the hunter stopped and raised his rifle, slowly swinging it back and forth in a small arc like he was expecting to be attacked at any minute.
The thing about Abasi is he liked the peace and shelter the gorge provided anddidn’t want things to change.But this hunter was an immediate threatto his family and friends and couldn’t be ignored. He rushed forward with both arms up over his head just as the hunter began to turn around and crushed him in his powerful arms before tossing him around like a rag doll. As his consciousness slipped away the hunter marveled at the sheer size of the silverback that got him!
Jack clung to the remnants of the raft as it carried him toward the waterfalls directly ahead. He could hear the thunderous sound of the fast-moving water as it cascaded down the 200-foot drop into an abyss.
In his terror things seemed to slow down as he remembered the raft hitting an underwater snag that threw him and Harold into the churning waters. The raft broke into sections under the mighty flow that dashed it into several protruding boulders. Harold disappeared in the swift current. Jack was able to hold on to a small section of the raft and desperately tried to paddle towards the high bank.The current was too strong. Through the frothy water ahead he saw trees growing along the rough edge of the cliff overlooking the view below.If he could grab one, he had a chance. A small chance. But better than nothing.Then the tree was in his path, splitting the powerful flow and he screamed while lunging for the trunk.
The day had started out ominously when Harold burnt their last fish to a crisp destroying breakfast.The had to settle for their last slivers of beef jerky. The trip had taken longer than they thought it would and they started running out of supplies three days ago.They were lost. Harold had the only compass and he managed to lose it in the river days ago. They got diverted from the river they had charted out and were on another river leading to an unknown destination. Both men were aware of the giant waterfalls in this part of the country and had plotted their course accordingly to avoid them.
Jack held onto the tree trunk for dear life.
He dared not look over his shoulder. The sight could unnerve him and sap his courage and strength. His head was pounding in tandem with the deafening roar of the water. The tree’s slimy bark was peeling away as he grabbed onto it for dear life.Summoning up his last reserves he clawed his way up the trunk and reached the first limb where he was able to wedge his body into the crook between it and the trunk. His heartbeat slowed down as he realized he survived. He was going to make it. Someone would see him stuck in the tree when they came searching for Harold and him. They both told their parents where they were going – they even gave them a map – and how long they would be gone. When they didn’t return a search party would surely come looking.
Two days passed and Jack was still on the tree.That made it nearly a week beyond their estimate.What was taking the searchers so long? He was hungry and exhausted.
When he woke up, he was being carried on a stretcher towards a waiting ambulance. He was saved! He kept thanking his rescuers and telling them about Harold.It was so good to see his parents and sisters greeting him as he was loaded onto the ambulance. Poor Harold he thought.Then he saw his girlfriend Abby who leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
When the search party finally discovered Jack’s body in the tree one of the men noted the smile on his dead pasty white face.
I nervously eyed the dealer as I settled into my chair. It took all of my will power to resist wiping off the ribbon of sweat that trailed down from my high forehead. I knew Frankie and Sal were watching me closely. Looking for signs of fear. Their boss, Big Boy Roy Zizzi was sitting at a nearby table sipping Bourbon and playing footsies with a red-hot blond who laughed shrilly at everything he said. I waited for someone to explain the rules of the game I was about to play.
Finally Big Boy Roy Zizzi got up and ambled over to me. His girth stretched the dress jacket to the point of tearing as he bent over and said,
“Myron my friend you’re a lucky man. I could have shot you in the back of the head and your body deposited in the desert by Frankie and Sal.But we’ve known each other for years before our little fall out here. You were my number one soldier. But your greed got the better of you. When I found out you were skimming money from two of my casinos.I had to take some swift action.The rules are simple.You get 10 chips. Bet any amount you want. But if you lose those 10 chips you get a free ride to the desert east of here.“
“Wait a moment! How can I win and save my life?“
“You have to double those 10 chips.Your dealer tonight is Belinda who just happens to be the best dealer in both of my casinos.She has a great sense of humor. So, let’s get this party started!”
I looked up and caught Belinda smiling. She seemed to be enjoying herself. I looked at the card shoe next to her hand. It held four decks. It was better than playing against one deck in my experience. Especially if there were other players at the table. But now it was just me and Belinda. I watched her quickly deal the cards. It was like watching water flow in one smooth movement.
My face card was a king. My down card was a four.She had an Ace. Her down card could be anything.Her hand hovered over the shoe as she asked me what I wanted to do?
“Stand,” I replied.
She flipped over her down card. “Eight!” she almost purred. I lost the first hand and found myself staring down at the nine remaining chips with a mounting fear.
For 12 grueling hours I managed to stay afloat but was down to two chips. After a few hours I grew to understand that she could have won every hand but kept giving me last-minute reprieves.Frankie and Sal were slumped down in two chairs by the wall and Big Boy Roy Zizzi – to his credit – was still going strong at the table with his blond bimbo.
I took a chance and bet my last two chips. I was exhausted from the tension.Belinda’s mysterious smile gave me hope. My face card was a 10. My down card was a jack. Her face card was a seven. When she turned over her down card it was a six. She drew another card. It was a queen. She busted!
“Let it ride,” I told her. And I won the next hand. And the next. I was up to 16 chips and flush with excitement when Big Boy Roy Zizzi broke away from his blond bimbo and waddled over to our table. He looked at my 16 coins. Then at Belinda. He nodded. She nodded and smiled at me.I lost.
At first glance the cavernous hall looks empty. But if you keep looking, you’ll see souls emanating from the stone walls, dancing with the sunbeams streaming down from holes in the cathedral-like roof.Ancient ghosts linger in the shadows silently weeping about their cruel deaths.
If you look closely at the rafters, you’ll see sleeping bats storing up their energy to hunt in the night. Their droppings foul the granite floor, creating a stench that wafts through the hall with every breeze that filters through the shattered front door and the gaping holes in the wall.If you have the time and the will, I will tell you a story about this accursed building.
Historians date this ruin back to the 13th century. But the building’s history is still a mystery. You probably noticed that this building is almost entirely overgrown with blackberry vines and dense foliage that disguises its outward profile. Local families have been passing down dark stories about the decrepit ruins for centuries. I’m going to share with you the most enduring tale among them.
DANCING WITH DEMONS
Once upon a time the building was the home of a pagan cult that practiced black magic. The priests, as they styled themselves, lived in the nearby villages and congregated there to perform dark rituals and human sacrifices. I suspect they were Druids, but I have no way to prove that despite the whispers we heard at the Inn.
The priests always gathered on full moons. There were exceptions, but I’ll get back to them later.On those nights people were tortured and killed during a mass celebration that lasted until the early morning hours. Screams of pain and horror mingled with raucous laughter and heathen drums throughout the little valley on those terrible nights.
What made this cult so special was its initiation ceremoniesfor new converts.The applicant had to dance with demons throughout the night. If they survived, they became members proudly describing the demons as their gods.Most of the time the supplicants didn’t make it through the test with the hell spawn and their bodies were rent into little pieces that the members quickly ate in a gruesome feast before the sun rose.
I hope I wasn’t boring you. You look tired. Was it the walk over here from the Inn? No. You’re sure you’re, okay?Did the well-trod trail here give you pause? I only say this because I see a glimmer of fear in your eyes.You seem uncomfortable.
For good reason.
To resume the story… the cult never died out. I’m brother Judas and it’s my pleasure to invite you to dance with demons this very night. We’ve had a hard time attracting converts in these modern times, so we had to adjust. Now we take whoever visits our valley to dance with the demons (who must be satisfied after all) and if they survive, we increase our ranks. If they don’t our secret lives on. By the way your tiredness isn’t from walking. Remember the beers we had at the Inn? I gave you something to relax. You have a big night ahead.
I watched him walk along the shoreline as luminescent waves rolled under the blue moon. The surf broke the silence of the night as it lazily lapped the gleaming beach. He was moving with the brisk wind towards an unknown horizon and seemed to pay me no heed as his cloak and long hair majestically streamed behind him.
I took a long hit off my pipe packed with a ball of opium. When I finally opened my eyes, he was walking towards me and for a moment I thought he was an ancient god with his flowing beard and long shaggy hair catching the moon beams and glowing eerily. But as I watched in wide eyed wonder he stopped, shook his mighty mane from side-to-side and reversed his course. I felt a sense of remorse. Loss. Did I offend him somehow by not standing up?
I had the feeling that I missed an opportunity. That the Beach Walker was going to befriend me and share answers to mysteries that have long befuddled humanity.
I watched his shadow chase himas he moved like a wraith beneath the moonlight. His hair was flowing and glowing. The waves were receding, and sand dollars and other shells were exposed and gleaming under the strange lights emanating from the sky. A stray clap of thunder growled in the distance. My thoughts turned to the pipe in my hand. I lit it. Inhaled. Waited. Time had no meaning. I sought revelations. Visions.The meaning of life. I was lost.
Pulling out the pistol from my jacket pocket I held it up to my head and held it there for what seemed an eternity. My arm gave out and I dropped the .38 Special onto the shifting sand. I cursed my cowardice. I cursed my demons. As I ranted a fog slowly crept along the shoreline then shifted towards me. From its depth the Beach Walker emerged, his wild long hair hanging in tight curls and straddling his broad shoulders. The cloak was gone and all he wore was a dirty white tunic. Somehow his face glowed under the light of the blue moon, and he was wearing a frown. A look of concern. His dark brown eyes bored into my soul, warning me not to take my own life. A voice inside my head said it’s God’s choice when and how you leave this earthly plane.
Startled I jumped up in my narcotic haze and called out to him, who are you? It was too late, however. It seemed like he was floating as he turned around and disappeared in the thick gray mist that now enveloped the whole beach.
When I saw the headlights, I didn’t move despite the fact that they were pointed right at me. It appeared God chose this moment to take my life and I gladly opened my arms wide prepared to be propelled into eternity. The Land Rover roared right by me, spitting up sand and broken shells as it hurtled into the night on some mad mission. I stood there listening to my heartbeat for minutes. Then I could hear the waves again. I suddenly understood that life was a gift and I’d been granted a reprieve for my past misdeeds.
I watched the sunrise with a sense of awe. Picking up the pistol and the pipe I threw them as far as I could into the turbulent surf. As corny as it sounds, it was a new day full of promise.
The Creative Chronicles of Dave Stancliff 