The Falsehood of a Night Jailed Demon

Trigger Warning (TW)/ Content Warning (CW): Manipulation, Dark Themes, Death

"A-1 to B-1. If there's such a thing as lady luck, I got it," I said confidently, moving a chess piece on the board. Although it was chilly in late August, it was the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month. I wanted to participate in the experience of the Hungry Ghost Festival after seeing a poster that said, "Night JaDe," including the whereabouts and timing of the event. The capitalization of the 'D' was odd, but I figured it was a typo. Marshall, a young adolescent man sitting before me, had dark hair in a messy updo with two large knots tied vertically and dark brown eyes.

In a moment of pause, I couldn't read his expression. Then, I noticed my face feeling hot. "E-1 to F-2," I corrected after realizing my king was in check. Then, as I became hyper-aware of my surroundings, I began hearing distant sounds of small gongs, a suona, and other instruments getting closer. I was self-conscious once I had allowed myself to be impulsive.

"Q-D-4-plus. You're in check again. That was pretty ostentatious of you. Next, you'll need to learn how to deal with mistakes." Hearing him say this was a mockery. Marshall was the first vendor I visited after arriving at the festival and walking around for half an hour. I wanted to reprimand him for tapping on my shoulder when we weren't familiar with each other and since it was unorthodox to do it during this holiday. Still, I was too stubborn to leave despite my hunger after smelling the roasting fragrance of Peking duck filling the air. It was reminiscent of a steak house.

"F-2 to F-3. You know a lot about these tabletop games. Aren't you getting too old for these?" You had better not be holding back." I felt angry, Rotating my King around on multiple occasions suddenly. The music I heard had made its way to me. A couple of monks had followed the few people playing it. As they passed by, they both stared at me. I caught their gaze, but they didn't turn away.

"Q-X-A-1. From those dark circles around your eyes, I think you're already there. And so what if I was?" Marshall joked, swinging the rook back and forth, holding the top between his middle and ring finger. "Ignorance is why people don't realize the values of these games." After the monks had left, a small crowd of people carrying flags appeared.

"I'll show you. C-2 to C-7. And last I checked, Connect-Four is not a deciding factor in getting career promotions. If anything, your warrior bun may win more cute boy points than your naivety." I scoffed. Although the festival started a few hours ago, it felt as though the dawning sun would sit at the horizon for eternity since I got here. Summer days have become longer, I felt.

"N-C-6. That's rather hurtful. For the record, being precocious can be a helpful trait. Why don't you figure out how to beat me?" He challenged. Although his tent was small, there was a lot of shade from the display of opened parasols and hanging drapes. However, neither boards nor signs were present for what he offered or advertised. And I could hardly look at his pale face underneath his bucket hat.

"G-1 to E-2. It's the thought that counts. Sorry, but as far as good looks can get you, it gets a lot more complicated than that." As I said those words, Marshall smiled at my arrogance, licking his dry mouth. "Should you be micro-dosing self-cannibalism from eating the dead skin off your lips? Even keeping a low profile doesn't hide your disgusting nature."

"N-C-3. You don't look like an overachiever, but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. How about you reflect on my offer to make this competition more delicious?" He waged. "But I am craving red meat, something close to beef or rump roast. Or perhaps pork or veal. But not quite anything I said."

"C-1 to C-2. Don't worry about it." I rolled my eyes. "It's a mood. I found my familiarity with personal reservations more comfortable than sharing values or working with others. But that won't stop me from thinking so little of you. So how much? Or should I buy you food?" After taking my turn, I reached for my wallet. Then, Marshall stopped me.

"N-D-5. who's the lonely one now?" He laughed. "And no, not money. Cooperation. And the sellers here have nothing I want to savor. Besides, everything is tastier when one starves a little." He clarified. By this time, it was late afternoon. The wind eventually started picking up a little.

"A favor?" I searched in his eyes as if I would find the answer he was not giving me. "What makes you think you'll win? Make your move." I felt increasingly impatient, like the growling engines from the motorcycles some festival-goers were riding.

"I want to test your emotional intelligence. If I win, we'll keep gambling as I like. Or until the fair ends." Marshall explains, fanning himself. His personality, although manipulative, gravitated toward me.

"What do I get for entertaining your loneliness?" I inquired, crossing my knees. "Excuse my derision, but do you have what it takes to be successful in the perspectives of your standards?"

"I didn't think that you cared. Are you certain about me?" Marshall tilted his head to the side. "What do you desire?" He stood very still, appearing lost in thought. Like his tent, his presence felt out of place.

I like to think of it as a privilege." I pondered for a minute. Then, finally, I said, "I will get the rest of the day with you until the end of the festival. And you're paying for whatever I want."

"If you win, it could always be my treat." He pointed out. "But it's no fun if you always get what you want, isn't that right? So it's always best to savor the victory." He winked. I was confused for a moment before realizing I had lost the game.

"Best 2 out of 3!" I demanded. He shook his head no, moving towards the back of his tent. There was a roulette wheel. Then, he looked at me expectantly. "When did you put on contact lenses?" I asked, just barely noticing a deep red color filling his irises.

"Having fun yet?" He teased. "It had only been 10 minutes since we started playing chess. But, of course, you're a rookie in the end. No need to be in denial." I noticed his impudence was intentional. Regardless, I played along, continuing to the next game. Somehow, since I had met him earlier today, I felt more emotional than usual.

"Red 4," I placed my gambit. "What's your angle? Why the egging? Why the mind games?" I raised my voice. Then, in one motion, Marshall tossed the ball into the wheel after spinning it. After that, the environment around me got a little quieter once the crowd that gathered had begun to disperse. Then, finally, I caught myself staring blankly at it. "You just got lucky."

"We can consider this one a warm-up since you're dissatisfied. If I win this round, I'll take some of the burning Joss paper you have in your bag." Sighing, I nodded begrudgingly in agreement with Marshall's terms. It was odd to me that he wanted to bet on those items.

"Black 2. Do you think you're so good? This game isn't a chance. It's random! And you could have purchased this yourself." Turning the wheel, he dropped the ball again. I kept a close eye on it, ignoring my inability to stop talking. Then, as the wheel slowed, my eyes got dark. "Don't worry. I'll play more games with you before I start raiding your banking cards," I added before handing him the burning Joss paper.

A slight breeze brushed through the strands at the end of my hair. I felt ashamed for the things I had never been impulsive to do and say before until today. However, excitement ran through my veins. I stood there, watching my chest getting more prominent, then smaller, and repeat, from my heart pumping.

"Speaking of cards," he said, dealing five playing cards to himself lying down and five to me facing up. "Blackjack. The bets are known, and we play without a raise. Would you like to discard any cards?" A six, seven, and ten of diamonds, a jack of clubs, and a queen of spades sat at the table.

"Remove three cards," I voiced. So Marshall discarded three and added three more. Carefully watching his hands, I noticed his long, stiletto-shaped nails. I could have sworn they were normal before. "It's because I'm tired, the reason why I'm losing," I claimed. The cards before me are now four of a kind. There are six spades, six clubs, two cards of six diamonds, and ten diamonds. He carefully lifted his cards, flipping them over. It was a bust; he had five clubs, five hearts, a jack of spades, a jack of diamonds, and ten hearts. His face remained still.

"Great job!" He congratulated. "Unlike chess, this is easier for your lack of attentiveness."

"Fu-" I was about to curse when Marshall interrupted me.

"Be careful. There are minors present." Then, in bouts of contempt, I walked away from his stand, ignoring his ridicule. I wanted to call him out on being toxic, but I knew that would only reveal my hypocrisy.

"Wait for me!" Marshall called out, making his way to me. Once he got to my side, we walked along the path near the lake.

"I'm going to light some stuff," I told him. Reaching for my bag, I shamelessly grabbed a box of Marlboro and lit a cigarette; then, I dropped my hand again in search of some paper. A drop of water landed on the back of my hand. Very lightly, the rain was barely sprinkling among us.

"Hey," Marshall said, trying to get my attention. He had both arms extended, and his hands balled into fists. "Choose a hand. One has a lucky coin. It looked like you needed it." Something about him was charming.

"It's weird that the forecast said today would be slightly cloudy. Guess you can't trust nobody these days," I spouted, putting both hands on his. He seemed taller than he was just half an hour ago.

"That's cheating!" He laughed. Releasing one hand, I held his right fist. Then, I let go, watching him unyielding. A bronze, round coin with a square hole sat in his palm. In the other was a quarter. "Heads or tails?" He asked.

"Heads," I answered. When Marshall flipped the quarter, I didn't expect he would let it fall to the floor. "I'm not supposed to be doing this on days like today," I pointed out; kneeling on the cement, I reached to see the winning result. Facing up was George Washington. Without thinking, I puckered a whistle. My eyes widened at how relaxed I must be to not care for superstitions.

"They're both yours," he announced, giving in to his defeat. I wondered if that coin had lost its luck.

"I'm bored. Let's look at the other stands," I suggested. "You remind me of someone I read about in a legend. A troublemaker who liked playing tricks and making bets. If you're the reincarnation of this person, then I hope I can trust you." Marshall followed me quietly. A minute passed before he joined in the conversation.

"Well. If this person is anything like me, he must have had a complicated relationship with his father. But at the end of the day, we all are born as a lump of flesh to our mothers. There's nothing special about that." Marshall said nothing else after that. Walking around, I saw many children were gone. But, on the other hand, most of the attendees, although older, seemed familiar. Finally, we reached another tent with games to play. He and I perused a table covered with cards and chips. The previous group of customers was playing monopoly.

"Welcome. Play," the woman inside the tent greeted. My eyes wandered to the group next to us, playing Uno. Then, I returned my gaze to the woman. She had this toothy grin plastered on her wrinkled face.

"Eye twister," I requested, gesturing to the cups on the shelf. After placing three of them between us, she put a pebble underneath one of them.

"Don't lose track," she warned. Meanwhile, I caught Marshall in the corner of my eye, stepping closer to one of the female participants for Uno, whispering into her ear.

"Use the trump card," he said in a low voice. I saw disappointment across some of their faces from over her shoulder once she accepted his advice. One of the men beside her grabbed a card from the deck, then another, and when it was the girl's turn again, she picked a color.

"Uno." She calmly said. Everyone groaned, reluctant to reveal their hand. It was unbeknownst to them that Marshall gave her a clue.

"Pay attention," the older woman snapped at me. Upon reflex, I shook. "This round will serve as a warm-up," she added before moving the cups around. Then, she stopped. The scent of ash and smoke from incense was present.

"The middle cup," I pointed. The vendor lifted the container, revealing the pebble. More lights and lanterns turned on but struggled to maintain their presence as they all flickered.

"Get ready," she warned again. Then, suddenly, the woman deftly moved the cups around faster than she did previously, lifting them occasionally to kick the pebble across. But, unfortunately, I had lost track of the gravel piece.

"Left," I pointed. Once she lifted the cup, there were no rocks present. I cursed under my breath, half hoping that no one heard me. Out of nowhere, my back then felt like it had gotten wet. As I turned around, the monks that had passed me before were chanting, dipping straw into their bowls, and then flicking water at me with it.

"Stop! What are you doing?" I asked in frustration. They both seemed puzzled at my reaction, and Marshall was absent.

"So sorry! But you have negative energy," said one of the monks, trying to be tactful. Itching to be spiteful despite their position, I stomped forward, almost grabbing the straw, when suddenly, I felt someone pulling me back between the tents. Marshall dragged me around the lake at a fast yet steady pace, holding my wrist.

"Let go!" I shouted, yanking my arm away. When he turned towards me, there were markings on his face. "You left without saying anything to get a paint job?" Despite my show of unfriendliness, he still smiled. Then, he held up a clipboard with a list of names written in different handwriting on a piece of paper attached, most of which were indistinguishable.

"All vendors have this. If someone wants to participate in the event as a guest or worker, we have them write their name down. This list is our way of estimating a probability of how many customers may approach us for the following year to come," Marshall explained. The night was approaching, but I felt something else was bothering me.

"And what if I don't sign it?" I hesitated to ask as those words struggled from my lips. Yet, somehow, even with this question I presented, I felt compelled to oblige him anyways.

"Of course, I can't force you. But signing this benefits our cause," Marshall encouraged. As the day proceeded, I understood the many out-of-ordinary things that happened. However, there was no way to confirm everything was connected.

"What happens then?" I asked once more, hoping for a more straightforward answer. But, instead, Marshall stood there, still smiling like a fool, dumbfounded. I slowly exhaled, then swallowed my paranoia before signing my name. As I did so, my hand felt strained, like it was overworked. Once I finished, a sharp pain drew my arm, making it ache. My breaths shortened.

Visually, Marshall looks the same as he is. And yet, somehow, paralysis overcame my body in fear of what would happen. All sounds drifted out, and I couldn't move, no matter how much understanding of reality I tried to grasp. Air from my lungs was slowly leaving me. Then, before darkness blurred, my vision skewed, and Marshall looked crazed. His eyes widened, and he wore a grin more enormous than the lies of his masquerade. He was like a demon, mentally tormenting my values and causing my beliefs to leave me stranded with a defiled identity. The festival before me started to fade as everything became foggy. Little did I know I was tricked into effrontery, gambling my life away.