DarkFuse Anthology 3
Page 8
Jacob ran to the bathroom and splashed water on his face as if what he saw could wash away. Cringing, he looked up into the bathroom’s mirror. The crow’s feet stared back at him. That gap-toothed grin smiled mockingly at his misfortune. The change was unnatural as if he’d caught some rare disease overnight. He was starting to resemble Derick.
Derick! Could the device be responsible for what was happening to him? Its very nature was unnatural. Who could know its side effects? The old man would know. Who knows how long he had it before Jacob got a hold of it? He saw a few gray strands of hair as he nodded to himself. Derick would know.
* * *
On the casino floor, the crowd’s energy flowed. Slot machines dinged and hooted. The roulette wheels spun, clattering as the ball bounced from number to number. As usual, the craps table teamed with patrons. They cheered about a roll Jacob couldn’t see. Their fun called to him. The device in his pocket seemed to vibrate against his thigh. It said, come on. One more game won’t hurt.
Jacob’s heart thumped slow, but powerful in his chest. It was the feeling before the dice settle; the anticipation before the electric joy he loved so much.
He shook his head. “Not yet,” he said aloud, willing himself to look away from the table. “I’ll find Derick and ask my questions. Then I can play a few rounds.”
As he walked towards the bar and away from the craps table, he felt that heaviness in his muscles again. His bones ached. While he stared at the craps table, he’d forgotten those symptoms. Now, they returned. They returned worse than before.
Jacob sighed with relief. The same bartender from last night stood behind the bar. “Excuse me.”
“Sir?” answered the bartender.
“I’m looking for the man I was drinking with last night.”
The bartender nodded with certainty. “You mean Mr. Volson.”
“I think so. He told me his name was Derick.”
The bartender nodded again. “That’s right, Derick Volson. Generous man. Always leaves a thousand dollars in tips every night. You don’t forget a man like that.”
Jacob smiled. Derick wasn’t easy to forget for many reasons. “I need to talk to him. Could you tell me his cabin number?”
Now the bartender frowned. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m not permitted to give out personal information about our patrons.”
“There must be some way,” Jacob said, sliding a thousand dollar chip across the bar.
“I’m flattered, sir,” the bartender said. His eyes locked onto the chip. “But, I could lose my job for that. Plus, Mr. Volson is a generous man. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize that generosity in the future.”
Jacob sank on the stool. He rubbed at his eyes. They were tired; more tired with each passing minute. His thoughts dragged. Like a rusted clock, the gears of his mind screeched and wailed with every rotation.
The bartender walked away to answer the call of another patron. When he delivered the drink, he returned a couple minutes later. “Is there anything I can get you?”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly. “I need something to pick me up. I’m exhausted.”
It was the bartender’s turn to nod. “I saw you last night. Quite the winning streak. All that excitement can wear a man down.” He took a glass from under the bar and set it in front of Jacob. “Don’t worry, though. I got something that will put some fuel back in your tank.” From a nearby cabinet, the bartender produced a can of energy drink and a pill bottle. He filled the glass with the contents of the can. The carbonation sizzled. He set a pill on the bar. “Vitamin B, E, and C for Caffeine. That should get you going again.”
Jacob popped the pill in his mouth, washing it down with the energy drink. Within seconds, his body felt powered by jet fuel. His mind raced.
“Thanks,” he said, pushing the thousand dollar chip farther across the bar. Jacob didn’t need it. Dozens like it lined his pockets from the night before.
The bartender scooped it up with a smile. “Thank you, Sir.”
Jacob nodded.
Thoughts no longer dragging, his mind worked through the problem. With the aid of the bartender’s energy drink, it didn’t take long. He reached into his pocket and slapped five thousand dollars’ worth of chips on the bar.
The bartender’s eyes stretched wide. They sparkled at the prospect of another tip.
“Mr. Volson forgot these last night,” Jacob lied. “The reason I wanted his cabin number was to return them personally. He gave me some good betting advice, I felt obligated. Could I trust you to have them brought to Mr. Volson for me?”
“Absolutely, sir,” the bartender replied, sparkle vanishing from his eyes. He collected the chips.
Behind the bar, the man entered something into the touchscreen computer. He plucked a piece of yellow sticky paper from a pad and scribbled, Mr. Derick Volson, cabin 7338.
“Thanks for your help,” Jacob said, leaving another thousand dollar chip on the bar.
On his way to the elevators, he passed the craps table. Looks of determination and entertained smiles stretched across everyone’s faces. The device in his pocket vibrated against his hip, calling him. He found it harder and harder to walk away—a feeling that both scared and excited him.
The elevator opened.
* * *
Jacob turned the corner, down the corridor of the seventh floor’s even numbered cabins.
He froze.
Down the hall, three men dressed in security uniforms stood at an open cabin door. Their whispers were low and serious. Jacob walked towards them. He tried not to draw any attention. The device in his pocket had to be illegal. If he was caught with it...
“Excuse me,” Jacob said, trying to squeeze passed the three security officers.
One of them closed the cabin door to keep Jacob from looking inside. Jacob stopped again, right in front of the door. All concerns about staying unnoticed disappeared. He didn’t need to go any farther. He found 7338.
“What happened?” Jacob asked.
The youngest looking security officer cleared his throat. “A guest passed away. Natural causes.”
Jacob’s jaw dropped. “He’s dead?”
“He?” Closer to the door, the security officer with stripes on his sleeve asked. “Did you know, Mr. Volson?”
A temptation to lie came and went. The bartender now knew he had a connection with the deceased. If Jacob denied it now, he may look more suspicious later. He nodded.
“What’s your name?”
“Jacob.”
“Ah, Jacob,” the ranking officer reached into his breast pocket and pulled out an envelope. “I think this was meant for you.”
Jacob took the envelope. His name was handwritten on the front.
“Were you related to the deceased?”
Jacob shook his head. “Just a friend.”
The officer perched his lips to one side in a sympathetic gesture. “Well, I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks,” Jacob said. He glanced down to the envelope wondering what it contained. He hoped he’d find the answers to his questions, but didn’t dare open it to find out. Curious looks on the security officers’ faces suggested they wanted to find out as well. “You said natural causes?”
The ranking officer nodded. “Yeah. Strangest thing really. Did your friend have any unusual medical conditions?”
Jacob shrugged.
“Yeah, we couldn’t place it either. Just old age.”
To Jacob, old age seemed reasonable with those sunken eyes and gap-toothed grin.
The officer continued, “His heart gave out in his sleep. He went to bed and never woke up. That wouldn’t be so unusual under normal circumstances. We get a lot of older folks on board. Occasionally, one passes. But, this one—” the officer shook his head, brows bunched together. “—he was only thirty-two years old.”
* * *
Jacob was huffing by the time he reached his cabin. He tore open the envelope. The energy drink started to lose its effect, but he c
ouldn’t be bothered by that.
Inside, a single folded page held a handwritten message for him. The writing was scribbled, ink light on the page. Jacob wondered if it was the last thing Derick did before he died.
Dear Jacob,
I’d hoped I might get out in time. It would seem I waited too long. There’s always one more round to play. You’ll come to understand what I mean soon enough.
You probably have questions. I did. The guy I got the device from was knifed for cheating at an illegal craps game outside Reno two hours after I got the device. I didn’t get to ask MY questions. I had to find the answers the hard way. Since I royally screwed you, I figured the least I could do was save you the mystery.
I meant what I said. You HAVE to keep playing. If you don’t, you age. Fast. It’s the price you pay for winning. I’ve found you can go at least a few hours without a game before the effects take place, but that’s cutting it close. The longer you play, the more youth you regain. But, it isn’t even. The life you lose from one hour of withdrawal takes five hours in the game to regain. Not very different than the odds of the game. ::wink::
When you’ve had enough, there’s only one way to get rid of the device. Someone has to approach you about it. They have to press you about it three times before you can tell them anything. When they do, you have to tell them the truth. No tricks. They HAVE to keep playing. Then they have to win it fair and square, as you did in the coin toss.
Best of luck, kid.
Derick Volson
The page fell from his hands to the floor. Jacob looked to the mirror. Those few white strands had multiplied. The gaps in his teeth were wider. His sunken stare had turned desperate.
He turned his eyes to his cabin door.
There was only one thing he could do. He had to keep playing.
* * *
“Midnight,” The dealer called. “Ten thousand for the gentleman.”
The dealer’s assistant slid ten thousand in chips towards Jacob. Jacob looked at it with disgust. There was no electric joy. No lightning bolt to the chest. Just a roll of the dice and the number he knew would come. He felt nothing except for the gap where one of his incisors had fallen out a couple days ago. He flicked at it with his tongue.
“Hard ten,” Jacob said, tossing a handful of chips on the table. He didn’t bother to look to see how much was there.
“Hard ten,” the dealer shouted.
The crowd roared, cheering him on, their voices distant to Jacob’s ears, their joy a distant memory of his own.
About the Editor
Shane Staley is a Bram Stoker Award winning editor and publisher. He is considered by many as one of the most influential editors and publishers of the modern era horror scene. He was the founder and editor-in-chief of the legendary specialty press Delirium Books (1999-2012). Staley started his publishing career in 1995 with a ‘zine called The Darklands Project. Since then, he has published more than 300 books in his career and has been a part of launching some of the most important writing careers in the horror genre.
About the Authors
Lauren Gallo lives in Northern California, and when not tapping away at the keyboard as a Social Media Manager, she taps away at the keyboard writing stories in various genres, including horror.
Nicole Feldringer is a writer and atmospheric scientist living in Seattle.
Tim W. Burke grew up in the U.S. within a mile of major federal prisons. His fiction can be found at Pseudopod.org, Space and Time Magazine, and Lore Magazine. See more at TimWBurke.com.
By day, Evan Dicken fights economic entropy for the US Department of Commerce and researches Edo Period cartography at the Ohio State University. By night, he does neither of these things. His work has most recently appeared in: Daily Science Fiction, Stupefying Stories, Innsmouth Magazine, and The Lovecraft eZine, and he has stories forthcoming from publishers such as: Chaosium, Andromeda Spaceways, and Escape Pod.
L.R. Bonehill is a writer from the dark heart of England. His short fiction has been published by DarkFuse, W.W. Norton, Strange Publications, and Megazanthus Press. His work has appeared alongside authors such as Peter Straub, Gary Braunbeck, and Joyce Carol Oates.
William R.A.D. Funk is a native Floridian living abroad in Canada with his wife Andrea. William, a former civil engineer and police officer, has turned in his badge to write under the umbrella of science fiction, horror, and fantasy. He is currently working on a series of short stories.
About the Publisher
DarkFuse is a leading independent publisher of modern fiction in the horror, suspense and thriller genres. As an independent company, it is focused on bringing to the masses the highest quality dark fiction, published as collectible limited hardcover, paperback and eBook editions.
To discover more titles published by DarkFuse, please visit its official site at www.darkfuse.com.