Last Call

Last Call

  On the mahogany table lay a deck of cards. They weren't made of paper, they were heavy and cool to the touch. Six friends sat frozen. Facing them from the shadows of the booth was the Dealer. It wore a tailored three-piece suit, but its face remained a shifting blur of smoke and dust, completely devoid of human features except for eyes that burned like dying stars.

"The rules are ancient," the Dealer’s voice vibrated through invisible teeth, sounding like grinding stones. "Highest card wins. The losers must pay. And here, here in this establishment, the currency is blood."

Mark had tried to flip the table an hour ago. The moment his hands gripped the wood, his chest had collapsed inward with a sickening crunch. He had choked on his own lungs before being dragged into the dark corners of the bar by hands that weren't there.

Then there were five.

"Round two," the Dealer hissed, sliding a card toward Chloe.

Chloe’s hands shook so violently she could barely lift the edge. A four of spades. She looked across the table at Julian, her boyfriend, eyes wide with terror. The Dealer slid Julian a card. An eight of diamonds.

Chloe didn't even have time to scream. The shadows behind her rose up like a wave of liquid midnight, wrapping around her throat and pulling her backward into the wall. The wood seemed to swallow her whole, leaving only the fading echo of her muffled shrieks. 

Four left.

"This isn't happening," Ben whispered, rocking back and forth, clutching his head. "We just wanted one last drink.This is a dream."

"A dream is a luxury of the living," the Dealer murmured, flicking two more cards across the table.

One landed in front of Ben. One in front of May.

Ben refused to touch his. The Dealer sighed, a sound like a wind blowing through a graveyard, and flipped it for him. A two of clubs. May slowly turned hers over. A queen of hearts.

Ben’s eyes went wide as his body suddenly stiffened. Red lines crept up his neck like a web of breaking glass. With a horrific snapping sound, he shattered into dust, leaving nothing but an empty shirt collapsing onto the leather seat. 

Three left.

John, May, and Sarah huddled closer together. The bar around them felt like it was shrinking, the walls pressing inward. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner sounded like a sledgehammer hitting concrete. Time was evaporating.

"Next," the Dealer commanded. Three cards slid out with mechanical precision.

Sarah reached for hers first, her survival instinct overriding her paralysing fear. She flipped it. A jack of clubs.

John turned his. An ace of spades. He let out a breathless, hysterical laugh. He was safe.

May’s fingers hovered over her card. She looked at John, then at Sarah. She turned it over. A ten of diamonds.

"John, please!" Sarah cried out, reaching across the table. But the Dealer was already moving.

A rusted iron chain manifested from the ceiling, dropping like a striking viper around Sarah’s torso. It violently yanked her upward into the darkness of the rafters. A wet thud echoed above, followed by a slow, steady dripping of crimson onto the table.

Two left. 

Just John and May.

A grandfather clock began to chime, a deep, ominous toll that vibrated in their bones. The Dealer slowly stacked the remaining cards, the edges clacking sharply. The creature looked toward the bar’s exit, where the heavy oak doors remained firmly shut.

"Last call," the Dealer whispered, its voice echoing with finality as it dealt the final two cards of the night. "The bar is closing, the clock has run out, and only one of you can walk out the door before the final bell tolls. Draw your last breath, or draw your last card."

“Last Call”.