LATE NIGHT CHALLENGER

The Aristel Casino thrives on weekend nights. It’s a staple for the wealthiest people in the state to double their weekly millions and brag about who owns more land or profits the most from their overworked employees. Beo despises these people. Yet, every weekend, he greets gamblers who come to his blackjack table with a smile. 

Beo doesn’t mind taking their money; most are novice and become too drunk to stay focused on the cards. He’s pocketed a few thousand extra from time-to-time, and since his boss doesn’t care, so long as the house gets a fair share, he sleeps well and his dreams are seldom nightmares. 

Another aspect Beo can appreciate about his job are the connections he’s made. With every gambler in the casino owning a building, park, or bank, rumors spread on his listening ears. One night, he came across a piece of gossip that turned his life around for the better. A marketing CEO was discussing sensitive business matters with some of her associates. They drank until their wallets were empty, not knowing their dealer was registering important information about certain names mentioned. At the end of his shift that night, Beo searched the internet for those people, and when he found them, he leaked whatever knowledge he had, which put his name in higher corners and forced the stock market to benefit him. 

Cunning Beo ensures to keep his nose under the radar whilst exploiting secrets. He is a family man, after all, and his wife already addressed her concerns about the extra money in their savings and upgrades to the house, and he’s seen a few patrons offering dealers the side-eye. He is going to quit this job, and it’s best to leave before anyone expects him of running his mouth in areas he doesn’t belong; but 

 if one more rich snob dressed in jewels walks in to tell him a funny story about how they cut someone’s check for “the good of the business” he is going to lose his cool composure. 

A special guest is on tonight’s list: the owner of the casino. No one’s ever seen him, but his cutthroat reputation has everyone on edge. Beo won’t let his nervousness get the better of him—thoughts of termination or being exposed to everyone—tonight, and it will take a lot more than some big-wig to prevent him from supporting his wife and children.  

Enough rambling in his own mind. His first guests are here and they’re already chatty. The flirtatious couple sits down and Beo greets them, and as always they wave their hand up to the sky like Beo’s their butler. No matter, the couple’s discussion has already piqued Beo’s interest. They speak of the owner as if he’s a god, untouchable in their world, a rare sight, and a dirty trickster. These are only rumors, but there must be some truth to them if Beo’s boss knows nothing about the man he works for. 

“I was told he only ventures at night because during the day he’s busy parlaying with mistresses,” says the woman clinging to her partner’s arm after taking a sip of her drink. 

The man strokes her hair back and whispers, “Thomas told me that people he terminates disappear from the working world forever. You remember Ariel, right? When he fired her from that secretary job at the firm, no one ever saw her again.” 

“Oh well,” she sighs, “I’m just glad I don’t work in any of his establishments. I’d hate to stop spending money.” 

They both laugh and kiss. Beo couldn’t be more sick. He’ll see how much they’re laughing when they’ve lost it all playing too many hands. And, if he gets a good tip from these drunk assholes, he will do his best to get one of them fired from their high-end jobs and perhaps end up here with the commoners. The cost of living is impossible to meet for the minimum wage in the state. What most would think is a small chunk of change is crucial to citizens with families, and the rich just laugh at it—like they are now—by buying homes in poorer areas for their trap houses and brothels, raising the prices in the neighborhood and forcing people into homelessness. With this casino job, Beo does all right, for now; the more his children grow, along with the rent and his wife’s needs, the more obligated he feels to eavesdrop, sell secrets, and ruin lives. 

Tamara, one of Beo’s coworkers, taps him on the shoulder and interrupts his thoughts. “Elliot said he’d like to see you in his office. He said not to worry, you’re not in any trouble.” She informs him then takes over the blackjack table.  

She said not to worry and normally, he wouldn’t think much of it, but with the owner showing up tonight, Beo fears the burden of added responsibility or working overtime. The office is a short walk to the end of the hall, past the craps tables and slot machines and through the ticket booth.  

The door is already open. Beo exhales, knocks on the door. “You wanted to see me, Elliot,” Beo sighs. 

“Yes, come in! Please.” Elliot looks away from the cameras, speed walks to his desk and pulls out the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat, Beo. I hope Tamara told you you’re not in any trouble. I just want to discuss some things with you.” 

Beo’s boss seems normal, though it is odd for him to talk to him during his shift. No one’s ever pulled Beo from the table, so this must be important. 

“Sure. What is it?” Beo replies. 

“About my boss, well, our boss, coming in tonight… he never mentioned a time. I hate to do this, but you’re the only one I can count on. I need someone to be here when he arrives and to entertain him. Your record here is marvelous, and you make us a lot of money. I know the boss will find you impressive.”

I knew it… “I’d rather get home to my wife and children, but I suppose I could be the face of the company this time.” 

Elliott offers no reply, just checks off boxes on a few pages of paperwork. 

“Am I free to return to my table. I was entertaining my first guests when Tamara arrived.” 

“Yeah. Sure. Go.” Elliot waves his hand as if speaking to a fly. 

Beo holds back the urge to grab Elliot by the collar and bash his head on the desk. Instead of throwing away his hard work, he raises from the chair, pushes it against the desk and leaves the office. Beo won’t take his rudeness to heart; Elliot’s behavior is common when he’s under pressure, and meeting his boss for the first time must weigh his mind. He hopes the owner won’t take long to arrive and doesn’t stay too long. 

His wife’s suspicions will heighten. 

He walks into the game room. The smell of cigarette smoke and liquor is still pungent. But either that meeting took a lot longer than he thought or all of the guests left early, even the workers. He checks his watch: all zeroes. He swears he checked the time on it before coming to work, and it was just fine. The world clocks above the exit door are also set to zero, which he’s never seen in all of his years of being on the job. Perhaps Elliot forgot to mention something to him, so Beo walks back to the office. 

“Hey, Elli–” To his surprise, Elliot’s gone. Odd of him to leave the door open. The nearest bathroom is towards the exit, Beo would have seen him. “M… maybe he left and forgot to lock up.” Beo pulls his mobile phone out of his pocket and phones him. 

No answer. 

He calls again and there’s still no answer. 

This is beyond irresponsible and unlike Elliot. On the desk are Elliot’s lockup keys. That’s also strange considering his jacket and other belongings are missing. Although he would rather get in his car and drive home, Beo picks up the keys to close the Casino, and leaves a written, apologetic note on the door for the owner:

“Dear…” Beo’s now realizing he doesn’t know the man’s name, “… sir. I am terribly sorry for the entire company’s absence. There has been a misunderstanding that led up to the closure of the casino. Please call Elliot at 555…”

Before leaving the room, he stares at the camera to see if there’s anyone left in the building. Even the cleaning crew left. 

Not his problem. He will lockup as he does any other night and let Elliot bear the responsibility in the morning. So much for overtime. On his way through the employees’ only wing, he shuts off every light and locks the doors. He enters the game room and stops cold upon seeing a woman standing in front of the entrance. Beo has never seen this beautiful young woman in the casino before. There’s no way he would let that bright-orange blunt bob, legs for miles, and enchanting green eyes escape his attention. She is captivating and emits the smell of roses. He watches those black stilettos matching her long, black dress click toward his blackjack table. 

The unknown beauty sets her purse down in front of her and turns her head toward him. He blushes, unaware that she noticed him. 

“Beo, correct?” asks her honey voice. 

Her question breaks him out of gawking. “Yes, ma’am. And you are?” He joins her at the game table.

“I’m the owner, Satainia Dovrag.” She sticks her finger in her purse, then sniffs it. “Where is Elliot?”

Never has a woman made an ugly habit look so attractive. 

“E—Elliot… he… he had somewhere to go. Family emergency. He asked me to close up.” 

“On the night I told him I was coming to inspect? That is… odd.” 

Her unwavering stare is striking, yet sweat beads form on his forehead and a concerning warmth developing in his belly. 

“I agree ma–”

“Please, call me Satainia.” She interrupts.

“Y—yes, of course, Satainia. Would you… still like to play?” 

“Oh…” she laughs, “I have no intention of leaving.” 

“Good. Good.” Beo bows his head. Elliot never mentioned an inspection. In the past, inspections were held on days the casino was closed and every employee worked overtime to prepare. This is different and pressuring. He grabs the blackjack deck out of the draw under the table. He takes them out of the pack; so shaky the cards fumble out of his hands and spread on the board. Beo scurries to pick them up. Satainia picks up one of the face-down cards with her claw, crimson nails. She presents it to him: the devil joker. 

Jokers have no purpose in blackjack, and never has he seen that card design. 

Tamara must have switched decks by accident. 

“How strange to see a joker in a blackjack deck of cards.” She smiles and places the card down, face up. “How about we have some fun with this game, Beo? Husband, father…” she leans in, their lips almost touching, “whistleblower.”

Beo’s insides are the equivalent to hot coals. He can feel the sweat secreting from his pores. “Whatever do you mean–”

“What I mean is you like danger… living on the edge, playing on the big field with people wealthy enough to put you and your family in a box to be forgotten by everyone.”

There’s no escaping it. Beo remains quiet, nods his head and listens to cooperate. 

Satainia’s voice deepens. “You have so much to lose…” 

The lights flicker until they shut off. Beo presses the emergency lights button located under his desk, which turns on red lighting he didn’t know the casino had. “Don’t worry, ma’am.” His voice cracks. All he can see are her piercing green eyes that illuminate through the dark red. He reaches for the phone in his pocket to call the local police department. His heart sinks to his stomach because no matter how much he presses the screen or the button on the side, the screen never brightens on his phone. 

The phone slips from his sweaty hand and drops to the floor. He bends down to pick it up. The room becomes bright red.

Beo jolts up—eyes widen, breath accelerates, and speech escapes his lips at the sight of all the dozens of black holes in the walls. Satainia, staring only at him, doesn’t say a word. 

“Where did… Where did those holes come from?” He puts his hands to his head.

“Aristel is my house, Beo.” Satainia’s smooth, calm voice degraded to raspy and airy. “I have owned it for centuries. You, whistleblower, have spread too many secrets and put my home at risk of closure. It is the source of my power. In these walls, are your most regular customers.” 

Beo’s mind races. Is this a cruel joke from one of the rich assholes? Had they found him out? Did they know all along? The questions seem viable until humanoid creatures, skin black as tar, and cries like newborn babies crawl out of the holes. 

Unable to process the horror, Beo falls to the ground and puts his face in hands, letting the tears burst from his eyes and screams release from his dry throat. 

“Quitting already?” cackles Satainia. Beo looks up at her evil eyes staring down at him from the table. “We still haven’t discussed our game.” 

“What… What are you?” Beo uses the game table to help himself up. 

“Your small mind can’t comprehend what I am.” 

There’s no point in trying to make sense of the situation. Either he’s dreaming or this is the worst day of his life—regardless of which is correct, he isn’t leaving until this is over. He pulls a cigarette and lighter out of the draw and sparks it up, takes a puff. “How do you want to do this?” 

Satainia’s maniacal laugh vibrates the entire building. He can’t stop staring at the ugly creatures behind her. 

“The first to win three hands in a row wins. We will both act as a dealer and a player. I win, you become a part of my human collection.”

“And if I win?”

“Ha! If you win, I will give you this casino. My home. My power.” 

“What happens if I refuse?” 

“Then you will never leave this place. Consider yourself lucky to have a choice in the matter.” She holds her hand out.

 Beo accepts the deal. 

The human and the unknown shake hands to begin their deadly game of blackjack. 

“I almost forgot.” The force of her grip cracks his fingers. “Whenever you lose a hand, I get something. Whatever I want.”

“How is that fair?” Beo scoffs.

“I don’t make humans comfortable.” 

Beo is told to deal first. 

“This round, I want one of your fingers.” 

***

Scared to death, yet left with no other choice, Beo deals the cards. His shaky hands don’t deal as smooth as he’s used to. 

Satainia and Beo view their cards. 

“Hit me,” she says.

Beo slaps another card down. 

The witch smiles and shows her cards: a jack of hearts, five of spades, and a three of diamonds. 

He maintains a poker face, lifts his cards. A sigh of relief as he places the perfect twenty-one down on the table. 

“Beginner’s luck. Let’s see if you can do it again. I’ll give you another chance to deal.”

Beo does as she commands. As soon as her cards are set, she turns them over—two kings and an ace of spades. 

“Go ahead, flip yours over.” She points to his cards.

His heartbeat pounds his eardrums when he looks at his cards. Seventeen. 

“Tsk Tsk. What will you do?”

An experienced player, Beo knows not to make the mistake of hitting, especially when the stakes are as high as his body parts. So, he loses the round. The blackened souls behind the deceitful woman surround Beo. Two hold his face down to the table and the burning cigarette and grab his hands. Fighting back might make it worse, so he faces the board and holds his tears. 

The scaly skin of the monster’s hand grabs his right index finger and yanks it out of the socket. The pain forces his legs to jerk. Satainia’s minions keep him posted under their inhuman strength. 

“Next round you lose, I want to hear you scream.” 

The dead souls return to their positions beside their queen. The cards teleport out of Beo’s hands and into hers. She sets them down next to his face. He’s terrified to turn them over. He lifts right hand to touch them, only to be stopped by Satainia’s winning hand. Another twenty-one.

“Please… No. I’ll do anything, please spare me,” Beo whines.

“You are already doing everything I want you to,” Satainia replies coldly. Two souls stand him up straight and grab his hands like a lover. “Now scream.” A snap of her wicked fingers and Beo’s body bursts into flames. Per her request, Beo screams uncontrollably. He is reborn after death. The fire chars his skin and flesh. If the flames don’t burn up his vital organs, he succumbs to a heart attack instead—so many deaths he endures. But not even his high-pitch cries can block Satainia’s taunting cackle. 

Another snap of her finger and the flames dissipate and the souls release Beo’s hands. His charred body hits the floor like a cooked burger; he can’t speak or move, only hear the clicks of her heels coming closer. 

She now stands in front of him. “One more loss and your soul is mine.”

It’s his turn to deal again. Souls pick him and put the cards in his hands. He can’t fathom how he’s still alive or able to handle the cards. In sync, Beo and Satainia don’t waste time peeking at their cards. Both sets are turned over—a draw. Both have two pairs of fives. 

“Interesting. Hit me.” Satainia demands, still maintaining her unwavering stare. 

He puts a card on her side of the table. She turns it over, revealing a nine of clubs. “It’s showtime,” she whispers. 

Beo draws a card with trembling fingers. He draws a black line across the card as he examines it. “Six. Eleven.” He tallies up his score. Beo pulls another card from the deck. Tears fall when the face of the card reveals the number four. 

“Your heart is going to burst through your chest.” Teases Satainia. If he pulls this off, this nightmare will finally be over. “Draw the card!” the witch yells, breaking his concentration. 

Beo swipes the card, shuts his eyes tight before looking. 

He screams then opens his eyes.

Weakened and numb, he has no energy left to express any emotions. Instead, Beo sets the card in front of her face-up. “No! No!” shouts Satainia. “Do you know how long I have dwelled here? How much time it took me to claim this place?” 

“A deal is a deal,” Beo mutters. 

“No!” 

All of her minions circle around and creep closer to her. She commands them to stay back, but they continue until she is overwhelmed. They trap her on the ground and begin pulling bits of her skin and flesh off her body and stuffing it in their mouths like finger food. To Beo it sounds like dogs munching on meat on bones. He watches in disgust, yet can’t look away. 

The souls finish their meal, leaving nothing left of Satainia Dovrag, except a blood stain outline of her body. 

The holes the black humanoid creatures come from disappear when they climb back inside them. Once all have returned to the inside of the wall, the regular fluorescent lights of the casino flicker on and the world clocks present their specified times. Beo checks his hands and body like a madman, bewildered by the fact he’s back to normal. “Was I dreaming?” he asks himself. 

“Mr. Beo! Mr. Beo!” A recognizable voice calls for him. 

It’s Tamara. “There you are!” He shouts at her. “You and everyone… wait. Since when do you call me Mr. Beo?”

“Since you hired me, sir.” Tamra tilts her head and furrows her eyebrows. “Everything okay?” 

“I hired you?” 

“Yes. Is this a test or something because that wasn’t in the job overview?” 

“What day is it?” Beo grabs her shoulders and gets close.

“Saturday! You’re scaring me.” Tamara pushes him away.

“The ninth?” 

“Yes! I was just letting you know that I’m going to take a smoke break before the shift starts.”

“But… where’s Elliot.” Beo grabs her arm as she walks away.

Tamara’s eyes wander up and to the right. “Last time I saw him he was in the back room counting chips.”

“Counting chips?”

“Yeah. Like you told him to.” She backs away. “I really need to go take my smoke break now. I’m kinda freaked out now.” 

Beo contemplates everything Tamara just said and what he experienced. He runs to the room where the poker chips are set, and there is Elliot, counting each one like Tamra said. 

The chair Elliot’s sitting in falls on the floor because of how fast he stands up. “Hey boss! I’m almost done with these chips.” 

Beo becomes nauseous. If he doesn’t find a toilet now, he’ll throw up on the floor and have to clean it up afterward. He runs to the nearest bathroom, doesn’t make it to the stall, so the sink is used. Other employees using the facilities groan in disgust and exit in a hurry. 

The vomit is black. The sight of it brings memories of the ugly, black creatures he saw in the nightmare. He can’t remember what he ate to cause this. Beo splashes water on his face and the vomit to force it down the drain. He checks his reflection in the mirror, and staring back at him are two beady red eyes and the resemblance of a black soul. 

THE END