The Game

Short Story

The club was buzzing with activity.  Roger Samson may have come from the hard streets of the East End but now he rubbed shoulders with members of high society.  Lords, Dames, movie stars, fashion models, even royalty had been known to acquaint his casino.

Samson sat at one of the many Black Jack tables, dressed in a dark tuxedo, enjoying a game. 

His best friend and business associate, Mickey Robinson came to the table.

‘He’s here,’ Robinson said in a gruff voice.

His guest was Anthony H. Elle, a property business man from old money.

Samson’s eyes fell upon the business man; he stood tall, with jet black hair neatly slicked back. His skin unnaturally white seemed to stretch across his bony face. However the most remarkable feature Samson thought were the man’s eyes.  They were the deepest black Samson had ever seen.  Other colours glistened in those dark pools as well, like spilled oil upon a midnight sea.

They shook hands and Samson almost pulled away as his guest’s strong grip felt like ice.  Samson felt he was shaking hands with a corpse.  Samson shook off the thought and invited Elle and the other guests to the VIP room.

A large card table clad in crimson stood in the centre of the room.  Samson and his guests sat down at the table to enjoy an evening of Poker. 

To Samson’s left sat Robinson, his bow tie straining against his thick bull-like neck.  On his right sat a rather pompous city lawyer that Samson disliked but tolerated due to his ability at losing cards so regularly. Opposite him sat an American business man, chewing down on a huge unlit Cuban cigar and Elle himself.

Within minutes the cards had been dealt, drinks ordered and the first game began.  To Samson’s disgust the first win went to Elle.

 To Samson’s relief the next few games went to him. 

‘You’re rather good Mr Samson,’ Elle commented, his voice was refined and well educated.

‘Let’s make this next game more exciting,’ he continued. ‘Shall we raise the ante to one hundred thousand?’

All agreed.

‘One hundred and I’ll raise you another hundred,’ Samson said as he tossed the chips into the centre of the table.  Robinson folded.   The American chumped even harder on his cigar but stayed in the game. 

‘Here’s two hundred and I’ll raise you another hundred,’ Elle said.

 All stayed in the game. 

After Elle revealed his winning hand, the city lawyer promptly folded and excused himself with a huff.

 ‘One hundred and I’ll raise you another five hundred thousand,’ Elle said with cold detachment.

 Samson put in the required amount of money.

‘Too rich for me gentlemen,’ Robinson said before folding.

The hand again went to Elle, much to Samson’s vexation. He began to sweat now, something he never did during a game-ever.

Another game began.

‘One hundred and I’ll raise you a million,’ sneered Samson.

Only Samson and Elle were left.

Elle threw his chips into the pot and said softly, ‘Call.’

Samson showed his cards, ‘A full house.’

Elle laid out his cards, ‘Three aces and a pair.’  

‘Damn,’ Roger shouted, brushing a shaky hand through his hair.  

‘Would you care to stop Mr Samson?’ Elle asked, his midnight eyes seeming to mock him.

‘Hell no,’ Samson replied with more gusto then he felt, ‘Deal.’

‘As you wish.’

Samson gulped down his bourbon on the rocks before staring at the cards.

‘One hundred thousand and I’ll raise you ten million,’ Elle said, all the other players apart from Samson folded.

Desperately Samson ordered more chips to be brought to him and began to count out the amount.

Robinson placed a meaty hand on his friend’s but Samson only shook it off.  Samson threw his chips on the table.

‘Here’s one hundred and I’ll raise you five hundred million,’ Elle said pushing the towers of the colourful chips onto the pile.

Samson didn’t have enough. 

Robinson leaned in, ‘Stop this Roger, it’s madness.’

‘Leave us, all of you,’ Samson shouted as he tugged at his bow tie and threw it aside, face waxen with perspiration. 

The other guests left the room, leaving the men alone.

‘Is there a problem?’ Elle enquired with mock innocence.

‘No problem.  I was wondering if you would honour a marker that is all?’

Elle smiled broadly revealing sharp white teeth, ‘Of cause, but not for money.’

 ‘If not for money, then for what?’

The dark haired man grinned, ‘For your soul, Mr Samson.’

‘Who are you?’ Samson managed to say through dry lips.

 ‘I am known by many names-Satan, Lucifer, Belizburb, the Devil.  I am all of these and more.’

‘Oh God.’

‘Not quite but close enough. So Mr Samson are you game?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Oh come now.  I thought you loved high stakes and this must be the ultimate.’

All Samson could do was stare into those hideous black, lifeless eyes and remain mute.

‘OK, I’ll make it easier for you’, Elle continued, ‘You stake your soul and if you win you will not only get all of the winnings that’s here on the table but I will bestow upon you more riches and power then you could ever imagine.  So what will it be?

‘I accept,’ Samson whispered, ‘You’re bluffing.’

Elle grinned, ‘We shall see-call.’

Samson turned over his cards, ‘A straight flush.’

Elle calmly turned his cards over, ‘A royal flush- quite apt for the Prince of Darkness is it not?’

Samson stared at the winning hand as he fought to gain his breath.

‘No, no please,’ he begged.

Anthony H.Elle stood and to Samson he seemed even taller now as he towered over him.  The lights above the card table flickered, and then dimmed, causing the shadows in the room to lengthen and darken. 

‘Time to honour your bet Mr Samson.’

Samson tried to scream but an invisible force gripped his throat.  He bucked in the chair as he felt his chest being crushed.   The sound of snapping bones echoed around the room-only then did Samson scream.

’Jason Duck 2024