The Final Gamble

Jack stood at the mirror, hands resting on the edge of the white porcelain sink as he watched his reflection stare back at him. The muffled sounds of music, slot machines and crowd chatter pressed against the bathroom door, exploding into second-long symphonies each time it flung open to welcome a new patron. The air pulsated with swells of positive energy and potential, an invisible invitation to a shot at becoming one of the so-called lucky ones. Jack had felt a similar euphoria in this casino every weekend for the past ten years, but today was different. Today they were waiting for him.

Jack washed his hands, the icy water numbing his fingers as he massaged the soap away. He reached to grab a paper towel, but the dispenser was empty. A water droplet cascaded down the tattoo on his inner wrist, an inky black eye with a red pupil, morphing itself into a tear. Jack turned and took a step toward the exit, running his palms down the length of his thighs. The wetness from his hands seeped through his pants and into his skin, sending a chill up the base of his body.

A few more steps and he was through the exit, back on the main floor of the casino. Two men approached him almost immediately, walking shoulder-to-shoulder in perfect unison as if marching to a shared metronome. Matching black suits spanned the width of their wide frames, threatening to suck all the light from the room as they neared. Jack’s instincts screamed at him to turn and run, flee from this casino and never come back. But it wouldn’t do any good. He signed the contract. He made the pact. It was time to collect.

The men escorted Jack through a set of double doors and down a long, straight hallway. The warm, soft light of the casino disappeared, replaced by harsh fluorescents. Hard-soled shoes echoed against white tile as they marched at a brisk pace. The matching white walls were bare, towering high, reaching up toward a grated ceiling.

Jack’s legs threatened to give out on him with each step forward. He could feel the weight of his escorts just behind him, more than willing to give a hard nudge each time his pace slowed. The hallway’s end stood in the distance; its wall accented by the metallic shine of an elevator door. It was all too quiet, too sterile for Jack’s liking.

The three men entered the elevator. Jack watched the door close, gliding effortlessly along its track, slowly erasing the world outside until it no longer existed. No buttons lined the inside wall. There were no floors to choose. One of the suited men thrust a key into a small hole, pulling open a panel that revealed another keyhole. Right on cue, his partner stepped forward and inserted a key of his own, giving it a hard turn to the right. Jack’s body twitched as the elevator sprung to life with a rumble, readying itself for a slow decent.

Memories of the past decade began to swim through the shallows of Jack’s mind. The riches, the women, the power. Everything he had ever wanted served up on a silver platter. His life had been transformed in the blink of an eye, ten years ago today, after a ride down the same elevator that trapped him now.

He had been poor, unemployed and on the brink of homelessness the first time he wandered into this casino. He thought his life would finally meet its end that night as he watched his last lonely dollar disappear from the roulette table. He felt alone, hopelessness fast becoming his only companion. But they were watching.

They took him. They spoke to him. They offered him a deal. He signed the contract. They marked his wrist. He returned to his life. They gave him the world.

Jack’s head snapped back to reality as the elevator eased into its landing. The door opened, revealing a large room with a roulette table at its center. He stepped out of the elevator and the door closed, lifting his stoic escorts back up to the main casino floor.

The air felt damp, like walking into a basement on a humid summer day. Jack sucked in a deep breath in a vain attempt to delay the oncoming claustrophobia. The stone ceiling hung mere inches from the top of his head, spreading out wide to reach stone walls standing atop a stone floor. Everything was dark and grey, a dungeon built too deep for the happiness of color to reach.

A man stood alone at the roulette table, cracking nervous knuckles as he eyed Jack’s approach. He shifted his weight from side-to-side, dancing to his own anxiety-laced rhythm. Jack opened his mouth to speak but stopped, distracted by a hiss coming from the head of the table. They were here.

The room grew dark as shadows formed from nothing, multiplying and widening to cover the length of the back wall. Jack watched them continue their silent expanse, swirling darkness that eventually blanketed the perimeter of the entire room. The mass of their presence pressed against his body from all sides, threatening to snuff the oxygen from his lungs.

“The time for your gamble has come.” The voice reverberated through Jack’s head as if it lived inside of his brain. The other man at the table froze, his legs locking up in an awkward stance. He was hearing the voice as well.

“Ten years ago, we granted your wish.” Each word made the room feel slightly colder. “You were both given everything you wanted. Now, it is time to collect payment.” Jack felt the symbol on his wrist start to tingle, slowly intensifying to a light burn that singed the top layer of his skin. He looked down at the roulette wheel and noticed his tattoo painted on two of the slots, typically reserved green for numbers 0 and 00. The rest of the wheel was the standard black and red he’d been used to, with white numbers atop each slot.

“One spin of the roulette wheel,” the voice continued. “If the ball lands on black, Jack will be chosen. If the ball lands on red, Paul will be chosen.” Jack’s eyes met with Paul’s; a man that only seconds ago stood nameless and insignificant. “If the ball lands on one of our two symbols, you both will be chosen.”

Chosen for what? The question swelled inside Jack’s brain. He tried to remember the details of the contract, the one he had pricked his finger for and signed with his own blood. Something about a tribute to the old God. The one God? No, the Old Ones. That was it. In ten years’ time he would have to gamble to determine tribute to the Old Ones.

But what was…Jack’s thoughts stifled as the roulette wheel sprung to life, spinning with effortless grace as its little white ball clicked and clacked along the outer rim. Both men stared unblinking, hands gripped to the edge of the table, knuckles forming white peaks. The blur of the wheel’s motion was hypnotizing, spreading its illusions until the room itself began to spin along with it.

The next few seconds of Jack’s life moved impossibly slow. His mind stilled, defensively shutting down at the overload of emotion. The wheel came to a stop. Paul shrieked. Jack’s eyes struggled to focus on the little white ball. It found its home in one of the two slots marked with the symbol: their symbol.

“No!” The single word rang through the room, bouncing off its jagged surfaces, reverberating an echo that shook the core of Jack’s stomach. He watched as Paul backed slowly from the table in small, uneven steps. “Bullshit.” The words flew from Paul’s mouth in jagged waves. “This is bullshit,” he repeated. “There’s no way. You rigged this. This is a scam. This is not fair.”

Paul looked at Jack with desperation, his eyes pleading for the answer to an unasked question. “Screw this,” he said, turning his back to the table. Paul ran, his body flying toward the elevator as if flung from a slingshot. Jack stepped back, the chaos unfolding in front him a distraction from his own unchecked emotions.

Paul only made it halfway to the elevator and they were upon him. Blackness surrounded the whole of his body, halting his forward progress with the grace of a spider’s web. An audible click sounded from the far end of the room as a piece of the wall swung open, revealing a small alcove. Paul contorted and strained his body, attempted to break free as the darkness carried him into the chamber. A glass barrier slid into place where the wall had been, trapping him inside.

Paul pounded his fists against the glass, profanity-laced screams for help spewing from his lips. Jack couldn’t look away, his eyes piercing through the glass, tracing an outline around Paul’s new prison. He saw a drain on the floor and a glowing red keypad on the back wall, the kind he’d seen throughout the casino restricting access to private doors. Paul didn’t seem to notice any of these things as he continued to lose control.

Just then, a high-pitched beep sounded from the chamber followed by the clank of a large bolt, like something had unlocked. Paul swung around to look behind him. The keypad had changed from red to green. The wall swung open. The beast attacked.

Impossible amounts of claws and teeth and fur ravaged Paul, sending red splatters across the glass, obstructing Jack’s view of the horror show. Paul’s screams faded, turning to soft gurgles as his throat ripped open, ushering a geyser of blood that spilled down his torso, pooling around the drain at his feet. Bones cracked and snapped as skin and muscle were torn free.

The beast withdrew back to its home as fast as it had emerged, dragging what used to be Paul with it. The beep sounded again and the wall closed, locking its heavy bolt back into place. The lights on the keypad returned to red. Nothing remained but dark splatters and chunks of flesh as the blood began to thin, slowly oozing with a slurp as gravity sucked it down the drain.

Jack found himself unable to move, his body ignoring all commands. Something shifted further along the wall. Another piece of the rock was opening, revealing another chamber: Jack’s chamber. He glanced toward the elevator, the only escape, but knew there was no hope. The blackness still stood in the way, a grim reminder of the fate he’d willingly chosen.

He felt a nudge on the back on his shoulders, a ghostly hint of the two large men that brought him here. His mind searched through memories in a frenzy as he was pushed into the open chamber, trying to find a record of anything that would make his decision feel worth it.

The glass divider slid to a close and he was alone. He turned to face the wall behind him. Acrid smells reached out for his nostrils like tentacles, but his senses had already gone numb. A life of decadence washed from his mind like the bright lights of a city disappearing in a rearview mirror. A beep sounded. The lock released. The keypad turned green. The wall swung open. The beast attacked.